#I think that even if John considered himself straight he would still fall in the Q for questioning

[twotales]

It's very clear that John is queer

Every version on John in my head is queer. Whether he’s bi, gay, aro or ace (or both). It’s gotten to the point where I can no longer comprehend him as straight. It’s like straight John Sheppard is an oxymoron.

honestly???? same. i have nothing against a straight john!! i just personally.... do not see it at all. there's just something so fundamentally queer about him to me idk maybe it's just projection but there's just something about his character that feels so queer to me?? i love gay!john and aroace!john so much, and bi!john is just so fun but i really just cannot see him as straight no matter how hard i try

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ THE COLLAPSE (2)

pairing: captain john price x f!reader

2.1k. you’ve been captured. *tw: non/dubcon

John lets you out of the hand cuffs when you prove to him you’ve calmed down a bit.

Just the ones on your wrists though — the ones around your ankles are still keeping you firmly in place on the bed. He lovingly rubs a green salve into where the handcuffs have marred your delicate skin, talking softly to you as he does. You’re not quite sure what he says, you can’t help it when you tune him out. The part of your brain that tries to save you from trauma, you think.

You beg him, plead with him, to let you use a bathroom. Almost cry for it. He makes you go in a bed pan and it's then that you realize you’ve been nude this whole time under the blanket he's placed on you. It’s embarrasing — having to go while he watches and then him cleaning you up after, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. As if some part of him enjoys it. Like he was meant to be here to take care of you. You tried to clean yourself, rip the cloth from his hands, but he warned you in a low growl not to and it scared you straight enough to let him continue.

You’re too smart to ask him to let you go. That can’t happen yet. No — you’re going to have to earn your freedom, little by little, like you did with the handcuffs. You almost did beg him to let you go in the beginning, when you were still in hysterics. John is smart. He’s a planner. That much has been obvious from the start.

The first night John feeds you every bite himself. It’s homemade soup and bread and you hate yourself for thinking how good it is. You briefly considered a hunger strike but realize not only would he probably force feed you — you also wouldn’t accomplish anything from it. You need to keep your strength up.

It’s been a few days, as far as you can tell, and that’s only by keeping track of the meals John’s been feeding you. They are actual meals too. Breakfast is sausage or bacon with toast and eggs. Lunch varies, but usually something light (you found the soup from the first night was actually his leftovers from lunch that day). Dinner is a full, homecooked meal — meats, veggies, the works. John’s even promised dessert when you ‘earn’ it, but hasn’t said what that means yet.

He doesn’t seem to take issue with your silence. You’ve barely spoken to him since he brought you down here, but he’s also been relatively quiet — only saying what he deems necessary, only soothing when rubbing that damn stinging green paste on your wrists. It discolors your skin but actually seems to be working.

No matter how hard you try, you always fall asleep at night — you get tucked in after dinner, he reads to you from his book (he’s currently reading The Old Man and the Sea), and he ends the night by kissing you softly on the forehead, turning the lights all the way off as he exits. You wait about 30 seconds before scrubbing where his lips met your skin, facial hair leaving a slight burn behind.

On the fourth day after breakfast, John enters the room, a caddy in one hand and a bucket of steaming water in the other. You can just barely make out the tops of bottles and a rag or two in the caddy from where you lay on the bed. He kicks the stool over to the bed you’ve been calling home and takes a seat.

“Time for a bath, love.”

Your throat is scratchy from underuse, but you still let out a small thank you — even if it is just a whore’s bath and not a real shower, you’ll take anything. You sit up on one elbow and reach with you other hand for one of the rags. John tsks at you.

“No, darling.”

Eyes wide as saucers, you look up at him. “B.. but you.. you said I could have a bath.”

“You are havin’ a bath,” he states matter of factly, as he plops a rag into the steaming hot bucket.

John grabs a towel and rips off the blankets covering you. You can’t stop the shiver that ripples down your spine, the whine that escapes from low in your throat. He shimmies the towel underneath you, caressing your side with light touches as he does.

John reaches down to grab the rag and wrings out the excess. He wraps it around a bar of soap and gently, very gently, starts to massage it into your skin. He starts with your feet, working his way up and up and up.

He dips the rag back into the bucket just before he reaches the seam of your pussy and a fat tear rolls down the side of your cheek. He swipes it away with his big thumb without a second’s thought. “Shh, now. None of that love.”

The rag runs across the outside of your lips gently and you let out a muted whimper. John grunts and palms the tenting in his pants before continuing to wash you. When he gets to your breasts he takes extra care to clean them as delicately as he can.

Once he’s finished on top, his strong arms grab you to sit you up. He sits on the bed behind you and washes your back hurriedly compared to the rest of your body. Once he’s finished, he takes the other wettened rag and quickly wipes the soapy residue from your skin.

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll wash your hair too,” he murmurs, his scruff brushing against your ear. Your body shudders in response. “You gonna be a good girl for me?”

Your lip finds purchase between your teeth before you decide to nod in response.

“Good,” he practically purrs, before getting up from the bed. He pushes you down onto your back with a tenderness you didn't know was possible.

“Now for the inside.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Wha-” you start, before you’re cut off. John’s warm mouth wraps around your folds, his tongue spreading you open. A whoosh of air releases from you and your hips buck up towards the ceiling. John reacts immediately and wraps a strong arm around you, effortlessly keeping you on the bed as his tongue assaults your sweet pussy. He laps up your juices like you’re the first water he's come across after days in the desert. Like he just found the fountain of youth between your legs.

You squirm and try to push yourself back towards the head of the bed, but it's useless under his firm grip. You’re not sure if your tears are because of just how insanely fucking good this feels or because you want him to stop. You should want him to stop… right?

“Sit. Still,” he growls, hot breath against your folds making you shudder. His tongue laps against you, splitting you open. It’s so wet. All of it. You feel the wetness pool against the towel beneath you; across your inner thighs; inside of you. John’s beard irritates your skin slightly as he assaults you.

John backs his mouth away from you only for a second to coat one of his thick fingers in saliva. He rubs it against you and you jump, a yelp escaping your lips. He hums to himself and he slowly rubs his finger up and down and around to your clit before he pushes his tongue inside of you again. You bite your lip hard enough that a metallic tang assaults your senses for a brief moment.

He splits you open slowly with that thick finger, dragging through your folds until he’s pushing inside. He’s purposeful in his movements. Once his finger is in to the hilt, he gives you a short lick. You whine. “Good little kitten,” he murmurs.

His finger rubs against your gummy walls while his tongue laps against your cunt with a ferocity you didn’t know existed. You can’t hold back your moans of pleasure now — you’re crying out for him. Screaming his name. Begging him to stop. Heat shoots up your spine and pools in your core. Your hips buck off the bed — or at least they try to but you can’t fight against the grip John has on your hips.

He only pauses for a moment to console you. “Shh, love. You can take it. Go on now, take it.”

He slips a second large finger inside of you and the stretch has you moaning. You struggle to catch your breath. Your toes curl, you grip the sheets hard enough to rip the fabric.

You ride out your orgasm on John’s face and fingers. Tears well in your eyes and spill down the side of your cheeks. John hums in approval the entire time.

His face is drenched when he sits up to look at you. He winces as he palms his stiffened cock. You suck in a terrified breath.

“We’ll start slow, love. Even though you let that wanker fuck you the first night,” he says with a growl. John unzips his jeans and pushes them along with his boxers off his thighs, flinching slightly when they catch on his thick length. His cock springs free and slaps against his stomach and your mouth waters. A shiver trails down your spine.

John approaches you like a predator approaching his prey. Steady, confident in his success. You know then that you’re absolutely fucked. You’ve known it for a while, in the back of your mind, but this solidifies it. Watching him saunter over to you, heavy cock palmed in his fist.

He pushes his head against your lips and you squish you eyes closed, mouth shut firmly. “Now, now pet… it’s my turn.” He brings his large thumb to your lips, his other fingers cupping the underside of your jaw as he pushes his thumb solidly into your mouth. His thumbnail grazes your gums as he forces your jaw to unclench and open around his thumb.

“No teeth,” he warns lowly, before slowly bringing his cock to your lips. Prespend wettens the tip and makes it glide into your barely open mouth. He pushes until he hits the back of your throat and you involuntarily choke, teeth barely grazing his fat cock.

He flicks your nose hard enough that you feel as if you just went underwater without holding your breath. “Watch it,” he growls. He goes achingly slow as he pulls back out, a string of your saliva the only thing connecting you two. Another tear falls and he gently wipes it away. The delicate skin on the side of your eyes starts to burn.

He fists some of your hair at the back of your head before pushing himself in again. You start to choke before he’s soothing you. “Easy, love. Breath through your nose,” he gently commands — voice low and scratchy — all while petting your hair. You do as he asks but only because you can’t get enough oxygen to your lungs.

“Little further,” he coos, slowly sliding himself again to the back of your throat. Your nose tickles on the dark coarse hair of his pelvis. He grunts at the squeeze. John watches you reverently in this position. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He can’t wait to break your stubborn streak, once he fucks your pretty little cunt. Can’t wait to stretch you open, feel your walls clench around him. You’ll be a good girl then. He just knows it.

Both of his large hands paw at your head now as he sets a steady pace. He almost cums just looking at the sight of you taking him. It takes every last bit of his reserve not to just blow his load right there. He grunts and shudders everytime his tip slams into the soft wall of your throat. Saliva runs down your mouth, tear tracks marking your beautiful skin. The prettiest sight he’s ever seen.

He fucks your mouth until he can’t hold on any longer. Ropes of his cum trickle down your throat and he pulls out faster than he would like to in order to keep your jaw closed completely. He watches you carefully as you struggle to swallow his load. Once he’s certain you have, he lets go of your face and you suck in a deep breath. You sputter, your lungs burn. The thick coating of him lines the inside of your mouth and you try not to gag.

“Sweet kitten,” he soothes, lovingly petting your head. “Come now, let’s wash your hair.”

[alwaysshallow]

coffee at midnight, part 9

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

You talk to Price, trying to find some peace. (3,4k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

“Are you gonna tell me what happened, or we’re gonna sit here for another hour?”

His voice snaps you from whatever melancholy you just were in. Hour? You’ve been sitting here for an hour?

You smile awkwardly, like it’s supposed to answer his question. “Just wanted to be around good company, sir.”

That’s partially a lie, you know it—but it’s better than lying to Price entirely. He’d call you out the minute you’d tell him that nothing happened. He’s wise this way, seeing right through you, even if you’re not doing anything particularly weird to alert him.

It’s just the weird knowledge he has, not only about his team, but in general. He can smell bullshit from a mile away, so you’re not surprised when he squints his eyes, not really believing you. You just hope, to whatever God is out here, that he won’t start investigating the topic further on.

Especially that you just came here out of the blue, needing some peace and quiet to think things over—and Price's office is the right place. Not the training room, where you could find Ghost, not even your room, where Johnny could easily slip in, even if the door would be locked. He did it multiple times; a lock didn’t stop him even once, so…

And you really need to be in a place that isn’t available for him. You’re not able to think straight around him normally, let alone after that encounter you had with him. After feeling him against you, being so close to let your imagination go wild. Sure as hell, you’d kiss him if he wouldn’t get up to get that damn water, it would be nice, but…

Would it even be worth it?

Possibly ruining your friendship? You still have that thought.

"And why's that?" Price asks, his eyebrow arching in a rather amused way, when he sips his tea; the other cup right in front of you, the steam still above it.

"Why do I want to spend time in a good company? Ridiculous question, if you ask me. Respectfully," you add. Your captain chuckles, shaking his head to himself.

"Usually you go to the gym, if you need good company. Or, Soap’s around to make out with you."

You open your mouth, just to swiftly close it second after. It’s hard not to look at Price like a deer caught in the headlights. “Make out with me? That’s an exaggeration and you know it, captain.”

Price clicks his tongue, tilting head to the side. Nothing about his demeanor changes, but it feels like an interrogation from now on. “Seemed a bit different, when he looked at you. Or, when he snapped at Gaz. Or, when he demanded a leave when you got shot, or—”

“—he demanded a leave when I got shot?” you ask, absolutely not caring how you just interrupted him. From information you had, Price just gave the leave to him and Garrick, so they could rest properly.

He didn’t say that he demanded it.

“Right after we send you off. So, sent Garrick on one too, so he wouldn’t be considered special treatment,” he murmurs. “What he told you?”

“That you gave him and Garrick a vacation since you have enough men from the other unit,” you answer, as you reach for your captain's flask. You pour some of his whisky in your cup, drinking some of it right after.

He doesn’t comment on that, but gives you a bit concerned look; you and whisky? Everyone knows that you hate it with passion, always refusing to drink some of Ghost’s when he’s offering. Not to mention, you always make faces when you just smell it.

It’s hard for you to think of anything else other than what Price just told you—there’s a million questions in your head, but the main one is why Soap lied to you about something so simple. Was there a reason for that, did he think you’d get mad? Right, you hate feeling like someone is treating you with pity, but…

“And you fell for that?”

“Had no reason to think that he’s lying.” You shrug, looking at your captain, humming in silent comprehension.

Silence falls between you two, and you take another sip of that tea with booze. Bad idea, tastes like shit, but you can’t care less. Not in the moment when you’re on the verge of confronting your best friend about his decision of taking leave just for you.

He usually used it when he was tired, or when he was about to see his family, maybe at some family gatherings too—important things, in general. Not something like…

You gulp, as you hold yourself back from sighing.

“So, completely sure you don’t want to make out with MacTavish?”

You look at Price with disbelief, only his rank keeping you from smacking him. Maybe if you’d do it, he’d get a bit more serious.

It’s funny—you seem like you’re gonna have a breakdown in a second, and he seems to enjoy that you’re struggling because he gets to make jokes about you and your best friend. And, you can’t really do anything with it.

It’s either that, or admitting to your feelings. Wouldn’t do you any good, so you just roll your eyes with irritation.

Which is also amusing in this situation, a possible make out session with Johnny could make you feel better. You’d lie if you’d say you don’t think of it every once in a while, especially after sleeping in one bed with him, that night in your apartment. The feeling of his arms around you—big, having you feeling all secured, when he sneaked them around you so tight—haunts you every night you go to sleep.

You reckon you two would benefit from it, from your lips crashing against each other in a warm, heated kiss, when your hands would be all over him. Scanning his body, different way than friendly, as you’d thought about giving him what he wants, and what you wanted for quite some time.

Instead of doing that, you’re in Price’s office, feeling almost humiliated about your feelings towards John MacTavish, when he occupies your mind, more than you'd like to admit. John MacTavish; your colleague, best friend, Task Force’s 141 demolitions expert and one of the best snipers.

All of these titles make the whole thing more difficult—if he’d be a stranger, you wouldn’t look twice before taking an action. As blind as you usually are, you definitely aren’t blind for his beauty; long eyelashes, that tempting smile that convinced you every time do do anything that he wanted you to.

“Maybe I should,” you say. Price looks at you, amused. "Sorry that I bothered you, sir." You get up from your chair; you don’t even get to walk a few steps because your captain motions for you to sit back down.

Which, of course, you oblige, sighing.

You won’t leave him until he says so, apparently. He calls the shots.

"Sunshine, if there’s anything you want to tell me, you should do it right now," John says, like it wouldn’t be obvious from the very first moment you sat there. It’s bright as the sun, you just want to keep these silly thoughts to yourself.

At least, a couple of them, involving your interest in Soap that you aren’t really good at hiding as you’d like to. It’s really a surprise that boys haven't caught on to it yet.

"Right," you murmur, starting to spin on your chair—that’s probably your favorite thing about Price’s office, besides the comfort that they bring.

“I just want to know where your mind is. Laswell raised you as a strong woman, but the captain needs to know things, especially if it’s about his team. Especially if there’s somethin’ to take care of.”

You hold yourself back from groaning. As you thought he’s gonna drop the topic, he digs in deeper, and it’s not really helping in your situation. Not in the moment where you want to minimize your potential lies to minimum, just as well as the information you give him.

It’s this point of discussion where you start to wonder if he doesn’t know something. Gaz, maybe someone else, or Soap itself, as he was a blubbering mess after alcohol.

God only knows what he told him when you weren’t around.

“I’m good, Price. And so are the boys, I assume; so there’s nothing for you to worry about, yeah? I’d tell you if something would change.”

“As well as something changing between you and MacTavish?” You choke on your tea as he says that, eyes wide. Jokes about making out with him were one thing, but the implication that something indeed changed… “Don’t look dumb now. I see how he looks at you, it’s pretty clear.”

"He’s not interested. There’s no reason for concern, sir." You look outside of the window; it’s a pretty night, no wind, no fog. Ideal for a night walk or run, if you’d like, since the orange lights give you a better view of the area. The parking lot is pretty clear, only the cars remaining are Task Force’s—a few jeeps, one sport’s car, one impala and a simple pick-up truck.

Price, despite your want to end the conversation, doesn’t stop questioning, even if you don’t look directly at him. Maybe that’s something that fuels him to continue. “No reason,” he repeats, his tone mocking. “No reason, yet he wanted to rip the poor lad in sheds when he saw how close you and Gaz are.”

You want to disagree with it. Badly, you want to tell him that’s not true, he’s making a wrong assumption, but the signs MacTavish gave… might seem like he is interested, somehow.

“Maybe he got irritated by something,” you murmur, not believing in what you just said. “I don’t sit in his head, sir.”

"There's a high chance that you are wrong, sergeant." He points at you, pouring some of the whiskey into your cup. “You’re gonna give a man a hair of affection and they’ll come back for more, every time. Especially if they waited some time before, so… be careful. For the sake of the team.”

What scares you about the whole thing, it seems like he somehow… knows what he is talking about—either because he experienced it, or he’s just familiar, but whatever it is, leaves you with a sore throat. You decide not to comment on that, so you just nod, to leave it behind.

After another twenty minutes in his office (spent on talking about upcoming mission), you beeline for the kitchen, craving a coffee. This conversation between you and Price made an even bigger mess in your head, so it’s only fair to make yourself a beverage and think about it alone. Without anyone around, this time. Just you and your head.

You play with your fingers, when you wonder about what Price just said. Is it even possible that he sees something more? Or does he see things between you and Soap differently? If so, what between you two is so different than earlier? It’s not like the affection came to you and stayed, it was… slowly arising.

You’re pretty sure that if you had a chance, you’d kill for a scrap of Price’s thoughts.

He’s a captain, after all. Knows most of your secrets, suspects everything and, what’s even more important, he has this “third person perspective” on things. It’s always easier to evaluate the situation, look at it in a constructive way when you’re not in it. For you, it might be a mess, but for him?

The question, very important for you right now, comes around your head when you take a sip of your coffee.

Does the rest of your team know? Alejandro? Ghost, Gaz? Did they notice something before Price, or maybe they talked with him about it because they were confused or concerned?

It could change everything. Maybe it will change everything because how could you really react when two people from your team are into each other? That’s why the rule of fraternization is here, so there won’t be any understatements between the team. All of the relationships need to be clear in order to work with each other. Chaos would cause deaths, most likely.

Of course, assuming that Soap feels anything besides a simple want to fuck you—and that can be debatable, considering that this man has his needs.

It’s hard to believe that he’d want something more with you. You know him for… a little over two years and he never did anything before that would imply he won’t settle for friendship only. Sure, maybe he hugged a lot, maybe he stayed in that apartment of yours more than he was supposed to and lied about the “vacations” he got, but that didn’t mean anything.

Or, maybe you are so caught up in your own thoughts that you missed something along the way, and that’s very likely.

"Can't sleep, lassie?" you jump, as you hear his voice behind you—smooth voice that you could recognize anywhere. You don’t need to see him to know it’s him.

And it’s not only his voice, but his footsteps are recognizable, too. Not particularly loud ones, but there’s no chance someone would miss them. When he walks into the room, everyone just knows it’s him, no one in the base walks like that; confidently, like the world belongs to him. His back is always straight, eyes looking for something. Someone.

Soap always crosses his gaze with you.

You clear your throat. It’s hard to ignore how close he is. "No, not really."

You probably should know better than going to the kitchen this hour, if you wanted to be alone; you knew his rituals, after all.

Well, it is your ritual too, though. Coffee around midnight, or particularly on midnight, when the base is quiet, secure from prying eyes, secure from anyone walking in here; only you and Soap. Talking about nonsense or not talking at all, but you’ve found comfort in that. In mindlessly sitting by his side with a warm cup, watching what happens on the other side of the window.

Thinking of everything because right next to him, you could feel like you’re actually breathing. Right now, when he is the cause of a mess in your head, not so much.

You completely forgot that he maybe would’ve wanted to drink coffee with you tonight since it’s a good occasion. No one wants anything, and it’s your second night in the base after two months, almost three. Perfect occasion.

"Avoidin’ me?" he asks, a glint in his eyes. A bit of interest, a bit of… something that you can’t quite describe. It’s definitely something dangerous—something that probably can swallow you whole, if you’re willing to try and play with him.

You’re not really sure if you want to do it, now. Not when you’re confused about everything.

You raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Couldn’t catch ye the entire evenin’. Not in yer room, not in the gym, so something’s off.” He looks at you, puzzled. It only convinces you that going to Price’s office was the right option in all of this mess; he’d love to talk earlier, and you had enough on your mind.

Hell, you still have enough. If it wouldn’t be suspicious, you’d sprint to your room in a moment, not looking back at Soap.

Now, you even fear to look at him wrong. He’s like a police dog, searching for anything out of place, something wrong just to go there.

You give him a weak smile. “Coincidence?” you raise your eyebrow, your hands clutching the mug, like a shield that’s supposed to protect you from him.

“Coincidence, my ass,” he growls, pinning you against the counter a bit—he doesn’t even react to you squeaking at his sudden movement. Doesn’t even care about the mug in your hands, either. “What’s the real reason? You can tell me, bonnie. You know this.”

Can you, though? Tell him that he is the reason of this whole circus, tell him that he is the reason your head is so messy right now? You’re not sure how it could go, how he could react. Testing the waters isn’t really an option right now, not when you’re pinned against the counter, your throat tight.

Something flips in your stomach.

“I—”

“—don’t lie to me, lass.”

You look at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He’s not really in the mood to beat around the bush, you can clearly see that. Lips pursed, shoulders tightened, and he still towers over you nonetheless. It’s overwhelming.

Not only that, it’s like a cat and mouse game, where the mouse is already in the lost position because she can’t hide anywhere to avoid the predator. The position is fitting for your best friend, now cocksure, looking straight at you with dark gaze. Way different, almost unrecognizable, which makes you wonder what got into him.

"Everything's alright, really,” you say. Quietly, coyly, and the moment he arches his eyebrow, you know you have to add something to this. Otherwise, you’ll be fucked. “It’s… a bit hard to get into the swing again. Focusing is exhausting after these months of completely nothing, you know? But sure as hell, I’m gonna get better."

His gaze softens. Soap even manages to smile with a corner of his mouth, which you take as a small win. You didn’t lie—technically, since what you’ve just said is not the whole truth—and you get him to be calm again, you get him to be the same man you know, inside and out.

"I see,” he murmurs, tugging a strand of your hair behind your ear, sheer contrast to a man you saw seconds ago. Chill goes down your spine, as he touches your jaw with his thumb. Slowly, deliberately, like he’s afraid to break you. “You coulda tell me sooner. I’m here to help, always.”

You nod under his gaze. It’s not like you don’t know it, he’s always been here for you. Day and night, trying to make you better because he cares. Like a guard, he always tries to take all the damage on himself, no matter what it would mean for him.

Multiple times, he mentioned dying for you, which you always scolded him for with furrowed eyebrows, telling him that nobody is dying for anyone and if only he’s gonna try doing that, you’ll kick his ass.

Those words are a little bit different now.

"Now,” he takes a sip of your coffee, shamelessly, not breaking eye contact, “gonna tell me where ye were?”

“Strictly classified.” He huffs, shaking his head to himself, while your smile widens. “Price told me some things about our next mission. Asked if I’m available.”

Soap tilts his head to the side. “And?”

“Told him that I am. I want to get back, and since it’s not strictly in the field, I think that I’m good,” you say. Johnny observes you with caution, like he’s processing your words; and you just hope that he doesn’t have a smartass remark about you taking care.

“Good. Then, first thing in the mornin’, ye train with me,” he mutters, kissing your temple. Tenderly, a few times. Your stomach knots at sudden affection, making it a bit difficult to think of anything else right now. “Six thirty, lassie. A’right?”

“Alright,” you choke out.

You don’t get to leave the kitchen alone. Johnny is right beside you, keeping a hand on the small of your back, gossiping something about two soldiers who were kicked out because of insubordination. Price’s face was “priceless”, as he jokes, and even if you indeed find it funny, you can’t quite focus on his words. Not when he’s so close.

The next few days, it’s hard to act like nothing between you two is happening, but you try your best to not raise suspicion.

Thing is, you try—Johnny doesn’t. Right before morning run, when you two stretch out, his hands are all over you. Overly touchy, even if other guys are around. Maybe especially then, like he tries to point out that you’re here with him and no one else.

You try to laugh it off, but in your stomach, something bubbles the moment he sends a look to one of the privates, clearly wanting to train with you two.

You know this look. Look that is reserved for a competition.

[xxsksxxx]

Liberating the Mirage

Summary:

When an assignment goes horribly wrong, Mulder has to race against time to find Scully.

But sometimes the line between reality and illusion blurs—and it turns out there’s more than one locked door that needs to be opened.

Notes:

This is my little contribution to Fictober, a yearly event that celebrates writing and reading—and fall. All of which are good things in my world.

Since there’s no way I can come up with a new story every day, I’ve decided to write one fic that includes all prompts from the Fictober 2023 prompt list. They’re all in bold if you want to seek them out specifically. You can find the list here: Fictober 2023

This story is complete, but to keep in the spirit of Fictober, I’m posting one chapter a day.

I hope you’ll have as much fun reading this fic as I had writing it.

AO3 | Start at the Beginning | @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023

Chapter 6: Unexpected Influences

US Steel Corp., Washington D.C. Basement

Mulder stretched out his legs on the cold concrete floor and pressed his back against the cold wall. Scully had fallen asleep shortly after John had left them alone again. He’d checked up on her several times in the last two hours, but she seemed to be fine, and he’d opted to not wake her up until she’d slept off all the drugs in her system.

He’d been alone with his thoughts ever since, and his mind had been trying to come up with a way to get them out of there. They needed a plan. And fast.

Scully stirred on the mattress and started to mumble in her sleep, and Mulder turned his head to watch her. She was shivering and Mulder wished he had something to cover her with. Suddenly, her eyes flew open, and she stared straight at him with wide eyes. “Mulder?” she asked.

Mulder nodded, waiting to see if she still thought he was a hallucination. She watched him for a moment and slowly sat up against the wall, wincing as if in pain. “Well, there’s no way for me to find evidence of whether you’re real or a figment of my imagination,” she said earnestly while rubbing her temples. “All the questions I could ask you, I’d know the answers to myself, so I could be making them up. I suppose I’ll just have to trust that it’s you.”

Mulder chuckled affectionately. Leave it to his partner to be rational even while drugged. He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Feels pretty real to me,” he said and squeezed.

Scully looked down at their joined hands and then up at his face, narrowing her eyes. “Well, it certainly feels like the realest hallucination I ever had,” she said.

If they weren’t trapped, this would actually be pretty funny, Mulder thought. He reached across her legs and took her other hand in his as well, putting them both on his face. “Feel for yourself then, Dr. Scully.”

Scully stroked her thumb over his cheek, down his nose, and over his lips, her eyes following her fingers. She raised her hands to his hair and brushed through it, letting the strands glide through her fingers.

Mulder chuckled again. “What is it with you touching my hair, Scully? Did they teach that in medical school? Though only my current doctor seems to follow this procedure,” he joked.

Scully’s eyes flew up to his and she blushed furiously. She pulled her hands back immediately and turned away. “Well, it seems to be you,” she said, pretending to be checking her sleeve. “I guess I have no choice but to believe you,” she murmured.

“I guess you have no other choice,” Mulder nodded with a smile. “Especially considering that we’re still trapped,” he said.

Scully looked over to him, then to the door, and furrowed her brow. “What happened? I only remember bits and pieces. Do you know a way out of here?”

Mulder sighed. “Our wonderful host must have had a handcuff key to free himself. I didn’t think to check the desk to which I handcuffed him. Stupid, I know. All I was thinking about was finding you. Either way, he wants me to give him a list of people that are working for the FBI.”

Scully thought back to the handcuffs she’d been restrained with and sighed. “You didn’t tell him any names, did you?” she questioned.

Mulder got up and inspected the little basement window, trying to find a way out of their prison. Just like the last ten times he’d checked, there was none. He sighed and turned back around. “Of course not. But he’s not going to keep us here forever. We need to find a way to lure him into a trap and overpower him.”

“Mulder, are you suggesting that we just attack him? We can’t do this on our own,” Scully said doubtfully, giving him a look. “We’re unarmed and there’s nowhere to hide in here.

“Well, we got to try something! We can’t just give up,” Mulder said determinedly, walking around the room again, trying to find an escape.

Scully watched him wordlessly with a resigned look on her face.

*****

“I visited your mother before coming here,” Mulder said, bumping his shoulder into hers. They were sitting next to each other on the old mattress, their backs against the wall. Mulder had finally given up on checking out the room for possible exits.

Scully turned her head and looked at him. “You did? Why?”

“I wanted to see whether someone had tried to contact her. Maybe tried to get some information from her,” he said, pulling on a piece of lint on his jeans with his thumb and index finger. “She knows that I was looking for you and that she should contact me immediately if she heard anything.”

Scully didn’t say anything, contemplating his words in silence. Her mother would be frantic with worry now, she thought. She just hoped she’d get the chance to explain everything to her. “Does Skinner know that you’re here?”

Mulder snorted. “He’d never have let me go.”

Scully nodded, not surprised. “What did you do, Mulder? Did he suspend you?”

Mulder studied his boots. “No, we came to an… agreement. He’d use official channels to find you, and I would… pursue my own investigation.”

Scully studied his profile. “Mulder…”

Mulder sighed. “To be honest, I lost it a bit while we were discussing how to proceed. Well, we lost it. Skinner wasn’t any less worried about you.” He turned his face towards her, giving her an earnest look.

She shied away from his gaze, uncomfortable with the admission, and absentmindedly took her cross between her fingers, twisting the chain. “What are we going to do,” she asked quietly.

“I think our best bet is to give him those names.”

Scully jerked her head around and Mulder held up his hand. “Not the real names, of course. But maybe we can get him excited enough that he’ll be so focused on the list that I can overpower him.”

Scully gave him a worried look. “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

Mulder nodded. “I know. But it’s the best I can come up with.” He grabbed the writing pad from the floor next to him and started to scribble names on it while Scully watched.

With a sigh, he put the list down after he had finished and leaned his head back against the wall. “Now all we can do is wait,” he said tonelessly.

“Just in case this doesn’t work…” Scully started and Mulder turned his head towards her, “I’m sorry I missed him coming out of the building. We wouldn’t be here if I had paid more attention and hadn’t only watched the front door. I should’ve seen him coming from the back.”

Mulder shook his head and lightly touched her arm. “Scully, it wasn’t your fault. We thought we had all the exits covered. None of us thought he’d be so bold and head towards the exit we were coming in through.”

Scully lowered her head, staring at her shoes on the mattress. “He completely surprised me, Mulder. That shouldn’t have happened. I was supposed to watch for him.”

Mulder turned his shoulders fully and put his fingers under her chin, lifting her head, so she had no choice but to look up at him. “Scully look at me,” Mulder said. “For the last time, this wasn’t your fault. He tricked us all. Skinner, the other agents—me included—thought he’d run to the front door. I even ran there myself to look for him when you didn’t report in.”

Scully’s eyes darted across his face, trying to see if he was telling the truth.

Mulder smiled at her, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You’re the smartest person I know, Scully,” he whispered softly. “You did the best you could.”

He moved his hand up and tenderly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, if this plan doesn’t work, I may not get another chance to say this,” he repeated her word from earlier, his eyes darting down to her lips and then back to her eyes.

Scully’s eyes widened. She didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence and closed the distance, kissing him softly.

Mulder froze when he felt her lips brush against his. Just as she started to retreat, most likely getting self-conscious at his inaction, did he lean in and kiss her back. He could feel her smile against his lips, and she started to relax again.

The kiss ended as softly as it had started, and Mulder leaned his forehead against Scully’s. “We’re going to get out of here, Scully,” he murmured, softly stroking her neck with his thumbs.

She sighed but didn’t open her eyes, her face slightly flushed. “I hope you’re right, Mulder. I hope you’re right.”

***

Thank you so much for reading. You can also find this fic on AO3.

[starman-john-tracy]

Submerge [RP]

John and Star centric RP with a little Virgil and Gordon for luck. Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

@asteria-star:

Star saw Virgil's face twist in pain, deep set creases in the ash and dust on his face. He was asking her if she was okay at the same time, which she personally thought was a stupid combination but... there they were. Her ears were ringing, and she could feel the weight in her eyelids as she blinked sluggishly at him, like unconsciousness was trying to drag her down. She knew she should be responding to him, telling him everything was okay, but she felt as if she was seeing the world on a delay, too much time passing between when things were being said to her and when she was hearing them. Things sharpened with a cold sluice of panic when she heard what he said. "Broke what?" she gasped, barely more than a hoarse whisper, because there was a very big difference between the answer being wrist or back. "Where..." Gordon's voice started to make its way to her ears, loud and frantic and but well trained enough to not quite reach panic. He was yelling at Alan through the com, and telling him - She reached back and smacked Gordon on the leg - the only part of him she could still reach without having to drag her own mangled leg through the dirt again. "Fucking language," she croaked at the blonde, breaking off into great wracking coughs when speaking moved the dust in her lungs around. Her vision went black with the lack of air - and blood an annoying voice in the back of her mind laughed. The world blearily swum back into focus on a close-up view of cracked concrete and a sharp shard of rubble digging into her elbow. She'd doubled over herself, braced on her arms, and slowly, laboriously pushed herself back up to sitting. She still couldn't feel her leg, which she was going to continue considering a good thing. Breathing was starting to become an issue, however - her lungs burned. "We're gonna have to move... can Scott and Alan..." she didn't have her com on her, which was a personality trait she still hadn't managed to shake. "I can help too. We gotta get John out of here, and you."

Gordon snorts at her hypocritical rebuke, before suddenly finding himself with an arm full of ex-convict as Star collapses to the side and he tries his best to slow her fall.

“Virgil?” The kid’s voice pitches higher than he probably intends. He’s trying to coax Star’s leg back out straight, and taking hold of the fingers of her flailing hand in an attempt to provide some stability. The air around them is insanely hot; the gas main still a spluttering inferno of flames, and the ground black, cracked and smoking. Alan had called it unstable, and that could mean anything from surface rubble to a sinkhole - only the urgency makes Gordon fear the latter. “What’s the plan, V?” He asks, before turning to cough roughly into his sleeve, the smoky air is burning his throat and making his eyes sting. He jams his helmet back on one handed, letting the air filters kick in and taking his first deeper, cleaner breath. His other hand is keeping pressure on Star’s leg. “Scott’s crashing his way back to One as we speak, but it’s gonna take him time to get over here, and I don’t like the look of that fire.”

“Star’s right, it’s definitely time to go.” Virgil agrees, breathlessly. He’s got one arm curled tight around his own waist, like that’ll stop anything from shifting. “Urgh- I think I’ve snapped a rib… or two. Fantastic.”

He’d been trying to take John’s pulse with his free hand, his brother having remained alarmingly unresponsive since the explosion, but Virgil’s distracted as he worries how, exactly, they’re going to go about the risky process of moving him. The choice between the possibility of paralysis or the immediate danger of the actively flaming gas man has, for Virgil, only one right answer - get him out alive - but he can’t help but his fear of the former.

After all, what would John’s life even be like if he was permanently disabled, if he was grounded? Virgil feels physically nauseous just considering it.

But, being fit for active duty on Thunderbird Five is no good to John if they get blown up again waiting.

“How many rocks do you think he’d hit on the way if I strap him to the board and try to drag it?” Virgil winces at his own suggestion, and Gordon stares like he's grown a second head. Broken ribs or no, Virgil knows he’s gonna have to carry John. “Right.” Virgil grits his teeth, breathing through them in a way that sounds pained. “I really hope you’ve not messed up your spine Johnny boy because it’s too unstable here to wait for Scott. Gordon, you good with Star?”

“Sure thing big man,” Gordon pulls her wrist over his shoulders - half-dragging her upright with her injured leg on the outside in an attempt to keep her weight shifted towards him and the pressure off it. It’s a less than comfortable manoeuvre. “Ack, sorry.”

[smolbeanie1221]

Sam knew so much earlier than either Cass or Dean did. And honestly I can so easily imagine Sam growing up and just being unconsciously aware that his brother is bi, like it’s just so normal to him he doesn’t even think twice about it.

We know Dean was obsessed with Dr. Sexy and that cowboy sheriff some guy he met when he time traveled that I can’t remember who he was. Anyways those were clearly celebrity crushes.

But imagine Sam and Dean still in school. Maybe they’re watching some show in a hotel, and Sam accidentally insults one of Dean’s favorite male characters, and Dean’s defense of this male character is just a bit too much for a straight guy, bonus points if Sam’s accidental insult had to do with the character’s appearance, and Dean goes off on a long rant about how this male character looks absolutely fine and better than fine and elaborates on… I don’t know, hair? thighs?? I’m ace and I dunno what people find attractive that way but anyways you get my point lol.

Or while they’re still in school, Dean forms a close bond with a male student, sneaks out several nights, and when Sam asks him, he just says “ohhh drinking you know, talking about girls…” but Sam knows that they’re actually sneaking out to see each other.

And maybe Dean gets into a fight with some other guy at another school somewhere, and he gets his ass kicked, and instead of being furious and vowing revenge, Dean seems to be in awe and infatuated with this guy, and Sam notices that Dean is clearly checking out this guy, not just because he can kick ass, but because Dean finds this attractive and hot.

And just so many other possibilities that maybe neither of them were consciously aware of, but Sam just grows up knowing that his brother is bi, but it just being so normal he doesn’t think twice about it. Dean meanwhile realizes that he is sought after by girls and he definitely enjoys that, so he just naturally falls into that comfortable place of being at ease when it comes to girls, whereas he never exactly knows how to interact with guys that he likes, so he just doesn’t let himself become aware of that. Not to even mention that during that time, being queer wasn’t as accepted and there was outside pressure of society but also probably not wanting to be anything less than the perfect son, and even if John wouldn’t care, this would make Dean different than other people, other hunters, and what if somehow being bi would make him less than perfect? He’s probably done a decent job convincing himself that he is straight, partly because of how often he hooks up with girls, and so he just rarely considers that he might be bi, and even when he does consider it or thinks about a guy he might be interested in, he just ignores it. Until he meets a celebrity crush and literally fangirls like crazy, or Castiel remains a constant, year after year, Cas is still there and will always be there, and this is someone who he can’t ignore. But he can ignore his feelings, convince himself that he is not attracted to Cas or in love with Cas, and even if he is, Cas is an angel and angels don’t fall in love with humans much less horrible killers like me with immense anger issues because I see myself as a monster unworthy of love, and so he can convince himself that Cas can’t/doesn’t/won’t feel anything like that towards him, and so Dean just can’t either and so Dean won’t feel anything like that, won’t let himself feel anything for Cas, and he’ll keep ignoring it and ignoring it and convincing himself that Cas can’t/doesn’t/won’t feel anything towards him, until it all comes crashing down and he realizes that Cas has been in love with him too, and they were both so scared and in denial and now everything is crashing and falling apart.

Sam had only 3 questions when he found out about destiel:

1. Shouldn't it be deastiel?

2. Why not Samstiel?

3. Casdean?

Last one inadvertently calling Dean a bottom

Sam knows how to navigate ao3 expertly

[maddiwrites]

Let Me Go

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: This was requested! Y/N still lives with the Cameron’s following the death of her brother, but she’s being held there against her will. After many failed escape attempts, Y/N finally gets out of Figure Eight, but she’s far from safe. (The request was long so I’m going to link it here so you can see the full summary of what anon wanted!)

Note: I’m sorry this took so long to get out!!! I literally had half of it written and then it all deleted and I’m so upset because my first attempt at writing it was better but oh well. I hope you like it. Again, sorry for the long wait!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, GUN VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS TRIGGER YOU. PLEASE. SUICIDE HOTLINE: 800-273-8255

Masterlist

You weren’t always like this - sitting up in your unmade bed, staring at the blank wall in front of you like you could see through it, unshowered, trembling from your shoulders down to your toes, feeling empty from the inside out. 

You forget what it’s like to be free. Following the death of your brother, you’ve been trapped like a rat in a cage. Figure Eight is no longer the luxurious part of the island to you. It’s filled with lies, manipulation, secrets, murder. 

You’re still living at the Cameron’s. No, not living. Surviving. Ward refused to give his guardianship of you up. Some people wondered why - why would Ward want to live with the sister of a murderer? Yeah, that’s what they thought - that your brother killed Sheriff Peterkin and tried to kill Ward too. But you knew why.

Ward no longer treats you like a member of his family. He has you locked in your designated room on the third floor that’s basically only used as an attic and storage area. Your own personal prison. Because you know what he did - not only to your brother and his daughter but to your dad. 

You felt like you were losing grasps of reality. You only knew fall was approaching because you could hear Wheezy talking about it to Rose outside your door. You guess the time of day by the sunlight through your window and the meals brought to your room. 

Of course there have been times you tried to escape. You managed to run away a few times. The first time, you went straight to the police station and tried telling them that Ward was keeping you trapped in his home. Of course they didn’t believe you. Instead, they called Ward to come pick you up. He told the police that you’ve been experiencing delusions since the death of your brother. Without a second thought, they believed him and ignored your cries for help completely. The second time, you tried going to Kie’s, but the police found you first and brought you back to Ward’s now that they think you’re going through some kind of mental breakdown. 

By now, you’re exhausted. You’re tired of fighting and arguing and screaming. You feel empty inside, craving some sort of release or embrace of comfort. You haven’t seen your Pogues in weeks, maybe months. You wonder if they still think about you. Do they blame you for leaving John B to go off by himself with Sarah? Do they hate you?

Not only is living inside an enclosed box hard enough, but dealing with the loss of your brother, friend, and father, is killing you inside. You can’t help but feel guilty that you weren’t with them. You and your brother were supposed to be partners in crime and you totally let him go off on his own. You feel like you abandoned him and that keeps you up at night. 

Since your ways of coping are limited, you’re not proud to say you found an unhealthy way of relieving your pain. 

When you were first locked up, you would scream and kick the door that hid you from the rest of the world, begging for anyone in the house to let you go. Never did it work, but one time Rafe got extremely fed up and raced upstairs to make you shut up. You didn’t know it, but Rafe was on the verge of a breakdown himself. His dad complete shut him out as he tried to fix the damage he caused. He assumed Sarah was dead. And Barry basically owned him, making him do all his dirty work. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn’t live a luxurious life either despite living in Figure Eight.

You took a couple steps back when you heard heavy footsteps approaching your door. Rafe quickly undid the locks and barged in so fast that he almost knocked you down. 

“Oh my god. Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe was breathing hard and quickly getting red in the face. You stumbled backwards, suddenly afraid of being alone with him. 

You sniffled. “I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Please, Rafe. You got to get me out of here. Please!” You never thought you’d be here, begging Rafe of all people for help. Yet here you were. With no other choices left.

Rafe paced the room and raked his fingers through his hair. “You do realize you're not the only one going through something, right?”

You swallowed back your tears and scoffed at the Kook in front of you. “Seriously? Your family is keeping me locked in here like some kind of zoo animal! My brother is dead -”

“Sarah is too!”

“But that’s not my fault!” You screamed. You pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “That’s yours!” Rafe froze and turned to look at you. You didn’t know where you grew the balls to keep going but you did. “I know what you did. I know what your dad is trying to cover up. And he’s using my brother to do it.” You saw Rafe’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Why do you think your dad is keeping me locked in here?”

“Shit,” Rafe cursed. Now he knew why his dad gave him strict instructions to never come up to your room. He started shaking his his head and shaking in his skin. “I didn’t mean to - I - I - it happened so fast.”

You could go on and on about how Rafe would never be able to dig himself out of this hole. How he will never be able to convince you that he wasn’t guilty. But you didn’t. Because he’s the only one who could help you.

“Rafe, please,” You begged. “I won’t say anything. I just need to get out of here.”

Rafe sniffled back his own tears and fears and looked out the one window that looked out into the backyard of his home. He couldn’t let you go. He knew it was selfish, but he had to save himself. 

“I can’t,” Rafe said.

A new wave of tears hit you and you felt defeated. You fell back on your bed and cried into your hands, hunched over above your knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said, but his apology was as empty as you feel. 

“Just go,” You rubbed your eyes hard enough to see stars. 

You hear something light hit the bed next to you. “I know it’s not much. But this helps me get through all this messed up shit.”

When you didn’t look at him or whatever he gave you, he took that as a hint to leave and quietly left the room. You listened to each lock being fastened again, each one leaving a crack in your heart. 

Rafe offered you something you should have never taken. A small baggie filled with fine white powder. You should have never even considered it. Drugs were never your thing. You wouldn’t even smoke with JJ when he offered a hit of whatever he was smoking. But the idea of anything taking your pain away enticed you.

And that’s how you ended up here. Broken, alone, and craving something only Rafe could supply you with. Literally. He came around every so often, sliding a small baggie under the door for you. It was the closest thing you and Rafe had to a friendship. 

Today was particularly a bad day. It was dark and rainy outside and you remembered John B’s birthday should be quickly approaching. You missed him. God, did you miss him. You would do anything to hear his voice again or steal his clothes or go surfing in the ocean with him. 

You trudged out of bed towards your dresser that held a faint line of coke left over from yesterday. With a one dollar bill, you sniffed the rest of it up your nose and blinked back the sting of tears that pricked your eyes after you did it. A rush of energy sparked up your body, through your toes and up to your head. You immediately felt lighter and that the world was spinning a little faster. But with that rush came a surge of emotions. You went from being sad to being angry real fast. 

You hated Ward. You hated Shoupe. You hated this house.  You hated Kooks. You hated yourself. You hated everything about the Outer banks. You just wanted to leave. 

You find the closest thing to you, a small makeup mirror, and smash it against one of the locks on the door. You’ve done this hundreds of times and by now the door was scratched and bruised from your abuse, but you didn’t care. You didn’t feel the glass of the mirror slice into your skin as you continued to bang it on the metal lock. You didn’t care if Ward and the others heard you throwing another temper tantrum. You just wanted out.

When you felt the lock stumble to the side of the door, you froze in your place. You stared at the broken lock, wondering if this was all a dream or a hallucination from your high. “No fucking way,” You mumbled. You looked down at the door knob and repeated the same movements until the handle completely fell off and clattered to the floor. 

You dropped the mirror and stuck two fingers through the hole in the door where the door knob use to be. While holding your breath, you slowly pulled the door open and couldn’t believe when it moved without any hiccup. 

You never thought that you would get this far, and now that you were here, you didn’t know what to do. You felt scared. Cautiously, you stuck your head out to make sure no one was in the hallway. When the coast was clear, you tip toed throughout the house, listening to the eery silence that filled it. No one was home. 

When you passed Rafe’s room, you stopped. You were out of supply and you needed more. Rafe owed you anyway, you told yourself. So you ransacked his room. Found about four more small baggies and stuffed them in your pocket before leaving.

As you walk through the halls, you pass Ward’s office and paused. It was open and unlocked. Even before all this shit happened, you never remember it being this way. You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the adrenaline from another escape attempt or maybe it was the cocaine, but you walked yourself into that office and looked around. 

You cursed at all the accomplishments hanging on his wall, the trophies, and expensive relics of random shit. His desk was neat and orderly despite the major crime he was trying to cover up. You sat yourself in his chair, trying to imagine what it felt like to be him. Motherfucker probably felt like a king. 

You went through his drawers, thumbing through random files you had no business looking through - most of it work related stuff and banking information. You tucked that one in your pocket for later. 

Then you hear something thump against the drawer when you pull it out. A revolver. Small and silver. Cold against your fingertips. You breath hitched as you brought it up to your face. It felt like you were holding a bomb. An object that could change your life forever. Another fresh set of tears threatened to roll down your face but you shook them away. No. No more being sad. 

You shut the drawer hard and walked out with a couple new items in your possession.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Pogues were spending another dreary day at The Wreck. The September sun might be out, but their spirits were down. Two of their best friends are dead and the other is trapped with two murderers. They were scared for you and have tried everything to get you back. They tried talking to the cops, they tried breaking her out. But each times the cops got in the way. They were running out of hope. At this point, they didn’t even know if they would ever see you again. They just hoped you were okay. They knew you tried escaping a few times and prayed that you would eventually get yourself out of there soon.

“JJ, you gotta eat,” Kie sighed as she watched JJ play with the fries in front of him. If anyone was handing it the worst, it was JJ. Both John B and Y/N were his best friends first. Hell, he was in love with Y/N. Had been since the sixth grade. One of his biggest regrets is that he never told you. Now he didn’t know if he ever would. 

“’M not hungry,” JJ mumbled. 

The door above the restaurant entrance rang as a couple of police officers walked in for their lunch break. The group of three glared at them as they walked in with their cocky stride and their hand resting on their tasers and guns as if everyone should be scared of them. 

“Fucking cops can’t do their goddamn job,” JJ sat back in his seat and flicked one of his fries down on the table. He hated them. More than he ever had. He couldn’t believe these people took an oath to protect this county. Fucking cowards, all of them. 

“Fucking assholes,” Kie said and watched her father approach them with a friendly smile. 

Pope snapped up when an idea popped into his head. “Sarah’s sister.”

“What?” Kie’s brows furrowed. 

“School starts next week,” Pope explained. “She’s starting high school, right? What if you tried talking to her? Maybe you can -”

Pope paused when he heard the sound of the police radios echoing off the walls from their belts. 

“Code10-92. Runaway teen last reported on Baker’s Street. Proceed with caution. Last seen wearing black sports shorts and a white tank. Suspect may be armed and dangerous.”

JJ’s head snapped back to his friends with his brows pinched together. Could this be you? Could you have made it out again? But what did armed and dangerous mean? That didn’t sound like you.

Shoupe radioed back to the station. “On our way.”

The officers dropped ten dollars in the tip jar before charging out the door to go to their vehicles. 

“We gotta go,” JJ stood up first and stuffed his phone and keys into his pocket. The other two nod and follow him out the door. If that call was about you, they wanted to find you before the cops did. “Okay. Kie, go home. She tried going to your house last time. Maybe she’ll try that again. Pope, go to Heyward’s. She trusts your dad. She might try to find him for help.”

“Where are you going to go?” Pope asked. 

“Everywhere else.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You trudged through your old home with heavy feet. Nothing in there felt familiar to you - like it belonged to you in another life time. You first went to your room and stared at the girl in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Bones sticking out of your skin, dark bags under the eyes, and cracked lips and dry skin. 

Without thinking, you took the gun that’s still in your hand and smashed it against the glass, shattering it all around you. 

Ignoring the stinging in your hands from the shallow cuts on your skin, you moved on to the next room. Your brother’s room. It looked like a tornado made its way through here. Everything was tossed and turned from the police and FBI ransacking it during their search for John B. Nothing felt like it was John B’s anymore. Nothing felt private. And that pissed you off. 

Next you went to your dad’s office, somewhere you haven’t been since you found the compass. Even now, it felt like you weren’t supposed to be in here. If you believed in an afterlife, you would think your dad would be shaking his head at you. 

The office looked like John B’s room did. Whatever belonged to your dad now belonged to the state. The only things left were random files and belongings the police didn’t find of importance. But they were important to you. 

The first thing you found was a picture in a cracked frame of you, your dad, and your brother from when you were ten. Your dad was holding both of you as you blew out the candles on a birthday cake. Looking at the picture, you felt your heart being shredded apart. The picture only brought back pain and grief. You wanted that happiness back that ten year old you portrayed in that picture. But you can’t have it. Ever again.

A cry ripped through your throat as you chucked the picture across the room. From there, you went on a rampage, throwing and kicking anything that was in your way. You took one of the baggies out of your pocket and dumped it on the desk in front of you. Without any precision, you fixed the lines up with your finger and took a long whiff. You gripped the roots of your hair and tugged as you sobbed loudly and felt one of the biggest headaches explode in your brain. 

You paced back and forth in the office with the gun held in your shaky hands. You were mumbling to yourself about your options and how horrible of a sister and daughter you were for leaving your family behind. You wanted to see them. You wanted to be with them and prove to them you never meant to abandon them. 

You didn’t hear the door to the Chateau open or the sound of footsteps following your cries. It wasn’t until you heard his soft, delicate voice that you turned around and stared at your best friend with wide eyes and a startled expression. 

“Y/N...” JJ breathed out. He didn’t see the gun yet. He just saw you, crying and broken and not looking like the girl he knew only a few months ago. 

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t recognize your voice either. Hoarsed and scared. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“The cops are looking for you! Okay? We need to get you out of here!”

“I’m not leaving!”

“What?” JJ looked at you like you grew two heads. “What are you talking about. We -”

“No! I said I’m not leaving! Agh!” Your hands flew up to your pulsating head and gripped at your hair again. The pounding in your head was excruciating and wouldn’t go away. Between the cocaine, your cries, and the exhaustion, you didn’t think it would ever go away. 

That’s when JJ saw the gun and took a shocking step back. His hands immediately flew up in surrender and he gulped down his nerves. Now he knew why the cops had called you armed and dangerous. Probably because Ward reported a stolen gun. JJ never knew you to be a violent person. It wasn’t in you. You couldn’t even hurt a fly. Which meant you didn’t steal this gun to hurt someone else. But probably...

Then his eyes flickered to the desk where he saw the reside of white powder next to an empty baggie. Now he was petrified because he didn’t know how to get through to you - if he even could get through to you.

“Y/N, baby. Put the gun down.”

“No,” You shook you head. “No, no, no. I need to see them. I need to see my dad and John B!”

“Y/n...”

“I should’ve gone with them. I should’ve - I - I didn’t mean to leave. I’m so-sorry, John B. I’m so sorry.” You were a mess. Tears and snot and running all over your red and puffy face. 

JJ kept looking between you and the gun. His only comfort was that he knew you didn’t know how to use it. You wouldn’t even touch the one he stole from Scooter Grubs. But that didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen.

“I can’t do it anymore,” You continued. “I can’t go back there. I won’t. I won’t. I just want to see my dad.”

JJ took a hesitant step closer to you and nodded his head, keeping his hands up. “Okay. Okay. What if I helped you see your dad?”

“H-How?” You hiccuped. JJ didn’t know where he was going with this. He just knew he had to get that gun out of your hand. He took another step closer to you, but this one made you jump back. “No! No! Stay away!”

“Okay, okay!” JJ yelled back at you. “Hey. I’m here to help you, okay? Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to see them. I want to say sorry. I - I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, they’re not mad at you-”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I -”

With you distracted, JJ took the opportunity to run at you and tackle you to the ground. He ignored the pang in his heart when he heard you cry harder, wondering if he hurt you, but he cared more about keeping you alive. He wrestled the gun out of your hands and quickly emptied the cartridge. He chucked the multiple pieces across the room and wrapped himself around your crumpled body.

“No! No!” You shrieked in JJ’s shoulder and gripped onto his shirt for dear life. “Please! Let me go!” 

JJ held on to your crumbling body as you wracked with sobs. Exhaustion quickly took over you as the adrenaline slowly vanished out of your system. Your throat was on fire from all the crying and the screaming. Your chest felt empty and your lungs heavy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and never open them again.

JJ couldn’t hold back his own silent tears as they ran down his cheeks. He hated seeing you like this. And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to help you.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said as he brushed the hair out of your face. He kissed the top of your head with his soft lips and kept mumbling into your head. “You’re going to be okay. I’m never leaving your side again. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince you or himself. He jus knew he had to make you believe it.

About ten minutes later, he felt your body relax against his. When he found you fast asleep, he pulled out his phone and texted Kie to pick the two of you up. 

Until Kie got there, he stared at the delicate skin on your face with such admiration. Rage bubbled through this veins as the ideas of what you possibly went through in the that hell hole in Figure Eight. 

He knew it was going to be a long road to recovery. He knew there was a lot of fixing that needed to be done. But he made a promise that he will never let you out of his sights again. Because today was a close call. And he never wanted you to be that close to death ever again.

[selfawarejester]

So, someone requested a fic where Blue Team rescues a Child!Reader from a war zone, but unfortunately Tumblr ate the ask. If you’re the one who requested it, please enjoy!

EDIT: found a screenshot! @simp-for-fictional-men-only, hope you like this!

Blue Team x Child!Reader (Halo)

It’s been a long “day”, even by Spartan standards.

Blue Team had been trying to repel Covenant forces on an Outer Colonies planet for over a week… but it hadn’t been enough. Command had called an evacuation, and after destroying a base to help the efforts, Blue Team had been ordered to help with final evacuation calls in the nearest town.

On the Pelican ride to town, there was a brief moment where they thought it was a waste of resources to send Spartans for an evacuation op, especially because the other Spartan teams were still doing the best they could to strike back at the Covenant; not necessarily to stop them anymore, just to hold them back long enough for the civilians to escape and maybe a little revenge. The events of the week, coupled with the guilt of their brothers and sisters still risking their lives, weighed on them heavily.

But at the end of the day, they’re glad they did: they found a group in the Rec center, a dozen people in the boroughs, twenty in an apartment complex — the Marines wouldn’t have been able to lift most of the wreckage that blocked them from escaping.

By the time they’d gotten to the outskirts of town, Blue Team had been left alone to sweep through the dead town. Chief considered just going to meet up with the Marines — surely, they could match the pace of the overloaded Troop Transports — and this area was just dilapidated factories and shady looking establishments that had long since been stampeded.

But a need to fulfil his task to completion stayed his hand… and thank god it did.

At first, it was just soft sniffles that sounded from the inside of the rundown factory. Chief and Kelly, who’d partnered up to search this side of the district, thought it was one of the many Jackals that had been posted in the previous sector wandering, or a Grunt that had been left behind after the Jackals had entertained themselves (in which case, they should probably put the thing out of its misery), so they go inside.

Chief goes first, moving carefully through the debris so as to not dislodge the wreckage, or disturb the corpses of the few soldiers and more civilians. He retrieves their dog tags, securing them in one of the compartments of the MJOLNIR, and Kelly follows, stepping where he does.

Slowly, the sound becomes louder and louder, wheezing and snotty sobbing. Definitely an injured Grunt, he thinks. It’s coming from under a slab of concrete propped up against a wall. Kelly flanks to the right, while Chief goes to the left. He signals that he’ll lift it on the count of three, and grips the edge of the slab. When the slab gets tossed aside, Kelly raises her shotgun, pointing directly at the small figure.

You shriek and bury your head in your knees, pulled up to your chest. You couldn’t believe that after all the gross, awful things you’d had to sit through, holed up in this corner, you were just going to die.

But when nothing happens for a solid five seconds, you chance a peek over your knees and gasp. S-117 and S-087 are emblazoned across the chests of the armored giants… Spartans.

Kelly and Chief exchange confused gazes, having no idea how to deal with children. The last ones they’d had any interaction with was the Castoffs on Netherop, but they were more feral gremlins than they had been children.

(Kelly and Fred still aren’t entirely sure that the whole incident wasn’t a heat-induced hallucination.)

John really doesn’t want to go through another episode like it, but on the other hand, it would be easier if you were pelting rocks at them.

Kelly, being the more personable of the two, kneels to your height (or as close as a Spartan could get) and softly calls. “You don’t have to be scared. We’re here to help.”

You knew that — they were Spartans! The greatest heroes Humanity ever possessed! You were just shocked that you were getting rescued by them.

“Y-you’re Spartans.” You whisper dumbly, but you couldn’t help it! How are you supposed to be cool when you grew up with Master Chief’s action figure on your nightstand. “Like Master Chief.”

You can’t see it, but John can sense Kelly’s smirk as she looks over at him and points. “Well, that’s the man himself.”

* Oh no. By the way your wet, moved eyes stare up at him, it seems you’re a fan.

OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!!! You hope your pterodactyl screeching wasn’t external.

“Whoa.” This couldn’t be real. You’d passed out from exhaustion, and were dreaming all of this. That could be the only possibility!

John knows that this is the part where he says something witty or inspiring… but he really doesn’t know what to say, so he just awkwardly clears his throat. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, a burning need to not disappoint your childhood hero, and clamber up to your feet… only to wince and lean against the wall, something sticky on your leg.

Now that you’re standing, he can see the dried blood around your ankle. “Hold still!” All the softness is gone from Kelly’s tone as she works on bandaging you up, but you don’t mind, appreciating how careful she’s being.

Co-ordinating with Linda, who informs him that there are patrols scouting the areas — probably only to get any survivors, and not to catch them, but they should still move — and Fred, who tells him that the convoy is flying off-planet via Pelicans in half an hour, John makes some quick calculations.

With the pace you’d set, hobbling alongside Kelly, whimpering every time you put your weight on your left foot, it would take them at least an hour. Too long.

“Whoa…” The sound comes unbidden from Fred when Kelly emerges, with you clutching at her hip, all bloody and dirty. A pang of sympathy strikes as he looks around and realizes all that you must have seen. He was well aware that normal children weren’t nearly as resilient as he and his siblings had been.

“….” He stays silent as you arrive in front of him, staring up at him with slight apprehension, heart racing as he tries to think of something to say — and for some reason, he lands on an awkward, weirdly Southern-sounding. “Hey champ!”

John and Kelly both shoot him weird looks, and he wants to dig a hole and die, when they hear it.

A small giggle falls from your lips, tiny hands covering your mouth as you try not to laugh. Fred sighs in relief, but his anxiety returns when Kelly’s joking voice comes over the comms saying “Well, I guess we know who’s taking care of them.”

Linda drops out of nowhere, and nearly scares you to death as you shriek and bump into John, holding his leg tightly. You don’t really notice how he freezes, confused again.

“…sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry, you think with a pout and drop from Chief’s leg, careful of your own busted ankle.

“That’s Linda, that’s Fred and I’m Kelly. You can just call him Chief. What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N.”

“Alright. We won’t be able to make it if you’re walking, so you need to get on one of our backs.” Chief tells you, straight to business. “Which one of us do you feel comfortable with?”

He’s really hoping you pick Kelly or Fred. It wouldn’t exactly be a burden, you’re much tinier than the full grown people he’s had to carry out of a war zone, and you’re handling it much better as well, even though you’re barely ten years old.

“Um…” You look shyly up at Fred. “If you don’t really mind…”

*Aw. That’s… actually kind of sweet. Fred beckons you over, and hoists you up between his shoulders, giving you the rundown on what to do if people start shooting, and to hold on tight when he tells you to.

*You’re much more considerate than the freaked out VIPs he’s had to extract. But he still feels you twitch every time the wind causes something to clatter, so he decides to strike up conversation.

“So how did you wind up there?” It’s not until afterwards that he realizes that, unlike soldiers, civilians aren’t comfortable discussing stuff like that. But you answer that it was your dad’s factory, explaining that it was Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

The Spartans, specifically Kelly, asked you questions about it, having never heard of it themselves. After all, military settings rarely allowed such breaches of protocol.

You only trailed off as you got to the part where he told you to hide, and Fred lets it be.

When you finally get to the convoy, a nurse hurriedly tries to pull you away from the Spartans to help out, apologizing for not doing it sooner when Fred tells her it’s fine and that you can stay. After all, Kelly had fixed you up well, and you seemed terrified at the prospect of being left alone.

All that was left to do was fly up to the ship in outer orbit, with the rest of the survivors. Since there were such few Pelicans, everyone had been crammed into them, military and civilians alike. You’d simply wandered onto the one they’d been on, sandwiched between Chief and Fred.

Chief watches you picking at your shorts, and suddenly remembers the chocolate bar Sgt. Johnson keeps giving him - “you’re not yourself when you’re hungry, Chief” He’d snicker and then leave, Chief just standing there, not understanding the reference - but hey, chocolate was chocolate.

“Here. You did well.” Your eyes go wide, and for a second he thinks you’re going to refuse, but then you snatch it out of his hand and snarf it down. This is how it must feel to watch him eat.

“You’re going to like it up there.” Fred chimes in when your gaze starts getting distant again. “Space is really cool.”

In a twist of fate, you find one of your best friends when you arrive on the ship. Their parents promise to take care of you, and thank the Spartans.

When they start directing the survivors to their quarters, you hug every Spartan, even Linda… or their legs, since you couldn’t reach anything else. (Thankfully, you telegraph it pretty well, so they don’t accidentally smack you or something.)

John just stiffens and then nods, Fred pats you on the head awkwardly and shuffles away (he was very shocked by the affection), Kelly laughs and claps you on the shoulder, and Linda just hums and pets you on the head like a dog, walking away afterwards.

You go on to be a Marine yourself, finding yourself on the Halo campaign, where Chief and Cortana save you once more. You’re surprised he still remembers you.

You leave a bar of the same brand he gave you at his shrine, giving a heartfelt eulogy and catching up momentarily with the other members of Blue Team before you all leave again.

You almost faint when he shows up at Requiem, though. Don’t feel bad, as Lasky fanboys behind Chief for the whole campaign.

Palmer corrals you and Lasky into a break room to make fun of your behavior after it’s all over.

[deans-baby-momma]

The Story of Us-Chapter 10

A/N: This is a rewrite of a story my good friend @spnbaby-67 allowed me to take and rewrite. All mistakes are mine. This is canon divergent, meaning some things that happened in the show will still happen here but with my own twist to it.

Summary: She and Dean met when they were kids. Even at such a young age, she knew that he was her soulmate. Being the daughter of a hunter, Michaela (Micki) Singer knew the life he led came with a price, but she was up to the challenge.

Pairings: Dean Winchester/reader, Sam Winchester/friend!reader, John Winchester, Mary Winchester (mentioned only), Bobby Singer, and more from the Supernatural universe.

Warnings: Flashbacks are in italics, fluffy stuff, angst stuff, character death, kidnapping, depression, semi-dark themes

WC: 1,137

Present Day (2008)

Dean walks back into the living room from checking on Micki and Maren, to find Sam on his cellphone.

“Okay. Alright. Yea, see you then.” Sam flips the cell shut and sits at the table with all the books and lore spread out.

“What’d Bobby say?” Dean asks as he goes to the refrigerator to grab something to drink. ‘Man, a beer would be nice right about now!’ he thinks to himself as he grabs a bottle of water and twists the cap off.

Pamela is out of I.C.U. She’s stable,” Sam answers as he looks down at all the jumbled papers. 

“And blind because of us,” Dean says, sitting across from his brother. “And we still don’t have any damn answers.”

“Yes, we do,” Sam states. “We have a name or whatever. Castiel.”

“And what do we do with that information? Huh? A big ole bupkis.”

“With the right mumbo-jumbo, we could summon it,” Sam says.

“And bring it here?! Are you fucking insane dude? You saw what it did to Pamela. My family is in the very next room, man! Can’t we just consider this-” he says as he motions to himself,-as a victory? I’m back; I’m not worm food, I am living and breathing and here for Mick and Maren. Let’s just let lying dog lie.”

“So we go someplace else and draw him out,” the younger brother suggests. 

Dean looks at Sam like he’s grown a second head. He is adamant about bringing whatever it was that showed up enough to burn Pamela’s eyeballs straight out of her skull to them.

“What are you going to do? Beat him up? Work him over? What if you’re no match for him, huh? Whatever he/it is, it’s strong enough to rip me from the grips of Hell.”

“I just want to talk to him,” Sam says, defeatedly. Then his face lights up and he pulls a page closer to him and reads. “Dean, look.” 

He hands the paper to his older brother. Dean reads the text on the page. 

‘Angels of the Lord are some of the most powerful beings. They have the ability to do things that are deemed impossible and inconceivable.’

“I’m not doing it here,” Dean finally caves. “Wait until Bobby returns and we’ll go find some deserted place to summon this thing.”

Sam nods and starts gathering up the books and pages from the table. Dean takes another drink of water, silently hoping they are not making a big mistake and he doesn’t end up back on that rack of torture.

FALL 1994

High school sucks ass! Micki had always liked school but high school is another story. Not only are there more kids to fill the halls and avoid but there are cliques. There are the jocks, the stoners, the nerds, the popular ones and then the category she seems to fall into: the loners.

No one really talks to Micki but she’s not complaining; actually prefers it that way. Maybe she is a loner but she knows she’s not alone because when she gets home she has Dean. Well, he isn’t there but he calls from a payphone near their motel every afternoon and night before going to sleep. He is all she needs. 

“Oh look girls,” a female voice permeates the air. “Looks like someone’s mommy forgot to teach her how to dress.”

“Or style her hair,” another voice chimes in. “God, do you even brush it?”

Micki turns to see a group of about 5 or 6 girls, giggling. They are all in name brand clothing and their faces are caked in makeup; their hair teased high and stiff.. She looks around and realizes she is who they are referring to.

“What?” she asks, innocently.

“Did your mother know you left the house looking like the Brawny man?”

Micki looks down at her attire. Her favorite band, Guns N Roses, insignia on a t-shirt paired with one of Dean’s flannels and a pair of jeans with her Nike’s. She thinks she looks alright; Michaela Singer has never been a girly-girl anyway.

She straightens her shoulders and holds her head high as she responds to her tormentors. “There is nothing wrong with my clothes.”

“Oh honey,” the one who seems to be the leader laughs. “Who told you that? You look hideous. Maybe you need to take some pointers from your mom?”

“My mom died,” Micki says, hoping to get the girls to leave her alone. Instead it backfires.

“Oohh, that explains a lot! Daddy probably wanted a son and now that his wife is gone, he decided to raise you like a boy.”

“That’s not what happened!” Micki cries, unable to keep her emotions in check. The tears spill down her face.

“Oh little orphan Annie going to cry now,” the main girl jokes. “Mommyless and a crybaby.” 

Micki runs down the hall, not caring about running into people as she just wants to get out of the building and home.

“I hate it!” she cries into the phone that evening when Dean asked her how school was. “They’re so mean.”

“Who Micki? Who hurt you? Whose ass do I need to kick?”

“Just-” sniffle “- some mean girls-” sniffle “-calling me names.”

“Baby don’t pay attention to them. You are better than that, I know you are. They're probably just jealous."

 "I doubt that Dean," Micki sniffles again. "They are all so pretty and wear the name brand stuff."

"Micki, baby, you are gorgeous! Don't put yourself down like that you hear me, don't. I think you are beautiful. And so what if they wear name brand shit. Who cares what a person has on the outside, it's the inside that counts. You have a heart of gold and a body to die for. I know, believe me, I've seen you naked and almost have a coronary each time."

That makes Micki giggle and Dean smiles. "That's my girl. I love to hear you laugh."

Micki hears John call Dean's name and her mood drops. She knows that her phone time with her boyfriend is over. He has to go help his dad with whatever they're hunting.

"I gotta go sweetheart, but listen," Dean tells her. "Do not let those ugly bitches bring you down. You are so much more, you are my world. I'll be back as soon as we get this rawhead taken care of. I'll come prove to you how much you mean to me.

"OKAY! I'M COMING! JEEZ! Baby, I gotta go. Talk to you later."

"Okay Dean. Hey, Dean?"

"Yea?"

"Barney."

"Barney, baby. Barney all the way."

Micki hangs up the phone and sighs, as she realizes just how much she misses Dean and how he makes her feel good about herself.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ @spnbaby-67​ @tftumblin​ @sea040561​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @atc74​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @squirrelnotsam​  @sandlee44​ @blacktithe7​ @hoboal87​ @mogaruke​ @deanwanddamons​ @supraveng​ @deandreamernp​ @akshi8278​ @lyarr24​ @maggiegirl17​ @chriszgirl92​

[elizahopexo]

Caught in the Snow Storm - Part 37

Through the drumming in your ears, you could still hear the crowds screaming. Like a faraway dream.

Backstage was chaos, as usual, staff and managers running around, laughing and talking but you moved onward as if in a trance, towards your dressing room. You were in a drunken haze, caused by the adrenaline or the nerves, you couldn’t say. Perhaps both.

Through the drumming in your ears, you could still hear the crowds screaming. Like a faraway dream.

Backstage was chaos, as usual, staff and managers running around, laughing and talking but you moved onward as if in a trance, towards your dressing room. You were in a drunken haze, caused by the adrenaline or the nerves, you couldn’t say. Perhaps both.

Spring was directly behind you with Summer and Autumn following close behind her. None of you had spoken since you watched backstage as BTS took the stage and dedicated their song to you. Proclaiming how perfect you all are, how worth it you are. How they called you their dearest friends.

The fireworks were still being shot into the night sky, the crowds still chanting when Namjoon raced towards you before you could run and hide. In front of all the fans and all the other members with confetti raining down around you, he whispered softly in your ear. “Meet us in your dressing room.” The lights hit his pleading eyes, making them shine “Please.”

It was a good idea to meet in your dressing room on their part, it gave you no choice but to go to them.

Once you reached the room, all the BTS members are huddled together with their heads drawn close, whispering furiously. They stop once they notice the 4 of you standing there and silence falls over the room like a suffocating blanket. Thankfully, the staff moved the flowers to one side. In this room, there were no cameras, no staff, no audiences or management… Just 7 boys and 4 girls.

“This feels like an intervention” Spring interrupts the silence. “I know I like my wine but not that much.” She laughs coldly, trying her best to break the tension that's choking you all. God, how you had missed her.

“Girls… you came” Namjoon whispers and that's when you notice they are each holding pieces of paper in their fists, worrying the edges and causing them to crumble.

“Noonas…we’re sorry for everything.” Jungkook begins, looking ready to burst into tears.

“We were shitty assholes who didn’t consider how much we hurt you. We thought it was the right thing to do at the time.” Taehyung continued, his eyes downcast.

“But we know now. We all realize how wrong we were…we should have never agreed to it.” Jimin carried on, his voice quiet.

“Please believe us when we say it ended after the movie night…maybe even before then!” Hoseok cried. “We are agreed that we would finish it but continue our friendship…because WE wanted to. Not for any other purpose than wanting to be with you.”

“We should have told you long ago. We’re truly sorry for all the pain and hurt we caused you. I’m so sorry.” Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“We understand if you can never truly forgive us, and we accept all the consequences of our actions…even if we would give anything to go back to how we were” Jin continued, voice wavering slightly.

Together, one by one they read their letters. They apologize, proclaim their love and friendship, and forgiveness. When it finally gets to Namjoons turn, he stares straight at you as if you were a piece of art waiting to be analyzed. He’s looking at you so much…it's almost as if his letter is solely for you.

“We want you to know how sorry we are, how much we miss you…how much we’ve grown to love you” Namjoon took a deep breath. “That's why we performed that song, that's why we left cupcakes and flowers in your dressing room. We know it will never be enough for what we did but… If nothing else please understand we are telling the truth. That we are speaking to you all now with our hearts laid bare…That we love you.”

You felt a gasp leave your body. They were all staring at the four of you, waiting and pleading. The silence was blinding you now, closing in quickly. Each one of you was hanging on by a thread…until you heard a sniffle from your side.

Summer whimpered, big fat tears rolling down her face. You turned back to the members when Yoongi made a choked sound. He was clenching his fists together, as if ready to just walk over and pull her into his arms but holding himself back. Hoseok placed a gentle hand on his and slowly reached out and offered Summer a tissue. She stared at it for a moment before taking it with a small nod, wiping her tears away.

Everyone seemed to be tearing up, the emotions tearing them apart, inside out. Namjoon keeps looking at you with those star-lit eyes and it's too much, too many words flying through your head as you stared at each other. They dedicated a song for you, to show how much you matter to them, how much they care, how sorry they are. Is this a trick? Is this another stunt? No camera, no other people are in the room…this is just for you, just for 4 rookies who are in over their heads…We’re telling the truth…hearts laid bare…grown to love…love, love, love-

“We appreciate your words.” Spring grips your arm like an anchor and you slowly realize you must have been shaking. “We appreciate your apologies…The letters are very thoughtful.” She's gripping your arm so tightly its starting to ache. You look at her face, frozen like a marble statue. Her face was giving nothing away. But you know Spring, you know how much she's trying to keep it together. “But we are a team.” She continues, staring hard at the others. “We need some time to think over your words…to think over our own feelings and think about what this means for us as friends” She looks between you and Namjoon. “What this means for all of us.”

Spring releases your arm and takes your hand tightly. She turns to face you “I’m starving, lets go get some food, so we can go to sleep!” Her honey smile doesn't reach her eyes. Spring starts dragging the three of you away. The pit of your stomach opening up into a black hole as you let yourself be lead. Autumn lowers her head and follows you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Summer follows close but you notice she sneaks a glance back to the members standing there, frozen to the ground. Unspeaking and unmoving.

The heavy silence follows you home.

-

Previous - MasterList - Next

Taglist (OPEN): @leahknox @aliceluckycharm @chieftoadturkeynickel @knjsagustd @lochness-butmakeitsexy @darkskin-buttercup @preciouschimine @tar0txsailor @jeminiepabo @john-joong @just-jeon @salty-for-suga @wordsaremyswords @somelazysundays @sweetjellyfishland @r4yih @halesandy @arminandjeanandannieandhange @s4ilor-m4rs @missmadwoman @zxlla @theestrangeddreamer @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lyra0cassiopeia @silentkei @fairygirl18 @joyfullyobsessed @letmebreathepls @heyitsbreeeeee @wholockian1 @xxew-pineapplezxx @cursedblood707 @ryugujii-ken A/N: AAAAAAAAAAA I hope this is ok! I tried doing a normal chapter but it just felt like the apology needed to be face to face with what happened and it felt a bit more genuine than just through messager! Have a good weekend all! <3 <3 <3

[wisteriasxx]

a/n: had this in the drafts since tfatws finished streaming and I forgot to post it but here haha

18+

Warnings: Weed, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

Smoke sesh with Marvel characters 🍃

this one is for all my stoner marvel fans💕 just my thoughts on what it would be like to smoke with some of our favs✨

———————————————————————

Steve

Well considering Steve is a super soldier, he can’t get drunk or high..........BUT for the sake of this let’s just pretend he can ;)

It would probably take loads of convincing for him to even try the stuff

If he decides to try it, he’s only taking one hit.

High Steve is definitely just super chill, and really cuddly, he’s gonna grab you and just hold you for the rest of the night.

When it comes time for munchies he will literally eat anything, but his favorite snack when the munchies hit is Mozzarella sticks.

He’ll start talking about how things were back in the 40’s, including how crazy the youth is today with this stuff you’ve just given him.

Tony

We all know that Tony is KNOWN for being a party animal, so he’s definitely down for a lil sesh with the avengers

Tony definitely likes to drink more then he would smoking, but he’ll still smoke.

Probably owns a dab pen with indica for for his anxiety

Prefers indica but will settle for a hybrid (sativa and indica)

Gets really giggly and even more sarcastic when he’s high

Will not move from his current place of rest, someone will have to bring him food when the munchies come or he will complain the entire time

Favorite munchies food is potato chips

High tony will definitely accidentally start spilling your secrets in front of people, you might have to physically shut him up somehow

Thor

Will give you a funny look when you hand him a joint or a pen or whatever it is that your using.

He’ll understand that you smoke it, but he’ll think it’s just tobacco or something

Before you can tell him what it actually is he’s already taken a couple of big hits

Once you tell him what it is that he’s smoking and what it does, the only response you’ll get is “this tastes funny and it will have no effect on me because I am mighty”

Fast forward to ten minutes later of Thor being loud and laughing at everything and just being an absolute goofball

Will eat and drink everything in sight once the munchies hit for him

“Where can I get more of this midgaurdian herb!??!!?!!” He’ll yell from the couch

Like Steve, he’ll get grabby and just wanna hold you the entire time. If you’re standing he’s gonna stand behind you with his arms wrapped around you and his chin resting on ur head. If you’re sitting he’s putting his arm around you and pulling you close.

Definitely ends with him passed out on the floor

Natasha

When she sees everyone playing “puff puff pass”, she’ll roll her eyes.

“What are you guys in high school or something?”

She will insist that she wants nothing to do with it, but after tony makes some remark about it, she decides to prove him wrong.

After a hit or two, Nat becomes more comfortable, she becomes less uptight.

Likes to shoot out more sarcastic one liners then usual

Becomes very flirty ;)

She gets smiley but in a tired way

In fact, She doesn’t stay awake very long after she’s had a hit or two in her system, she gets too tired and calls it a night

By “calls it a night” I mean she basically droops onto you and refuses to move, you’ll have to move her if you want to.

Doesn’t get the munchies because she’s asleep before she can

Clint

Clint will take a hit or two, just because why not? He could use the relaxation

He’s super chill when he’s high, he keeps to himself

He’s quiet when he’s high, but that’s just because he’s vibing, he’s taking in the music or just simply listening to the nearest conversation.

Wears sunglasses the whole time because he doesn’t want anyone to see his red eyes

He doesn’t really get munchies, he just chills the entire time

You can’t tell if he’s asleep or if he’s just vibing

Will only give one word answers if you ask him something

Not the most fun to smoke with but he’s just chilling and minding his own business so he’s welcome.

Loki

Will look at you with irritable confusion when you offer him a hit

When you tell him what it is and what it will do to him he’ll simply ask, “why would I want to do that?”

He won’t do it in front of anyone, that would mean letting his guard down and becoming vulnerable

He will definitely try it later in private though

When he’s high, he’ll want you to join him

He’s still basically loki when he’s high, he’s just more relaxed

“This is quite nice I must say.”

There will definitely be a conversation about how he can’t believe this is what mortals do for fun

He’ll become a little more open with you because he’s more relaxed

He’ll become confused when the munchies hit, but after you tell him it’s normal he’ll go with it

His favorite munchie food is definitely popcorn

I’m gonna flat out say it, high loki has a higher sex drive

Gets lost in the moment type of guy

In his opinion, the weed helps him block out everything else except for you, and that’s why he likes it

His mischief meter also skyrockets, you thought normal loki was good at pulling tricks? Just wait till you see how creative high loki can get

Bucky

Bucky is gonna look at you like your crazy

Then he’ll remember that he is also crazy, and figures the weed might help ease his mind a little.

Bucky becomes more relaxed when he’s high, his guard has dropped a little, but he’s still aware of his surroundings.

He’s funnier when he’s high 

Smiles more which makes you smile because you think he doesn’t smile enough

He still does the staring thing when he’s high, but it’s not as intimidating now, there’s a softer look in his eyes and a small smile on his face

Will open up a little more about his feelings towards you

After his first time trying weed, he’ll get some cbd gummies or something on a regular basis to help relax him

When the munchies hit for him, he’ll eat anything, but his favorite munchie food is anything Italian.

He just wants to cuddle man

Wanda

Wanda is surprisingly chill

She’s more open, more humorous, and even nicer.

her magic can resemble her current state of mind if she wants it to

So when she’s high, her magic becomes really pretty and elegant, like it’s in slow motion

In fact, she glows a little when she’s high

She’ll make her magic do pretty things for your entertainment

Due to her magic though, I feel that her high wouldn’t last very long

For her, smoking is just a quick little get away from her mind, something that just takes the edge off a little

Doesn’t get munchies

Prefers indica

Peter (quill)

He’s never had earth weed, but he’s definitely smoked and drank all kinds of substances through out the galaxy

Definitely likes sativa

He’s down for whatever, he likes to try new things

He’ll complain about the taste, but then love the way he’s feeling in 10 minutes

He becomes very stupid when he’s high

He’ll turn his favorite music on full volume and just start doing things, he won’t be able to sit still.

He’ll try to do things to keep himself entertained, but he’ll be bad at doing them because he’s high

When later or the next day comes when he’s sober, he’ll look at the evidence of him trying to do whatever it was he was trying to do and be totally confused, but not surprised

When the munchies hit, he’ll eat anything he can find on the ship that’s edible

It will end with him passed out in some weird spot on the ship or wherever he’s at

He once got high and woke up cuddling with Drax-

Gamora

Will not smoke

The designated driver

The “chaperone” of the night

Sam Wilson

When you offer him a hit, he’ll be unsure and say something like “man I haven’t done something this stupid since high school, I don’t know”

But he says “screw it” to himself and takes a couple of hits

Becomes really smiley when he’s high, like the dude won’t stop smiling. It irritates Bucky.

Definitely will start singing out of nowhere, even if there’s no music playing

He’s also gonna tell crazy stories about his past, things from high school stories to military stories

He livens up the session for sure, after a few hits in, he makes it his goal for the night to make everyone happy and vibing along with him

When the munchies hit for sam, he goes straight for pizza. This man absolutely loooovesss pizza when he’s inebriated

Dr.Strange

Is obviously familiar with the substance

Definitely used to do it all the time in college (helped with the stress of med school)

Will question if it’s the best choice for everyone to be making right now

Most likely will not do it, it wouldn’t look good if the sorcerer supreme was getting high

You’ll ask him if he knows some kind of spell that can sober you up

He’ll tell you “yes” and proceed to hand you a water bottle and roll his eyes

He’ll do the portal thing above you and a bunch of your favorite snacks will land on your lap when the munchies come

He’ll take care of you once you pass out, carrying you to your bed or your couch or whatever and setting a glass of water near you before he leaves you alone

Scott Lang

Oh yeah, he’s definitely taking a couple hits

Prefers bongs

Prefers hybrid blends (sativa and indica)

This man knows his kush okay? Would not be surprised if he had a plug, or if he was the plug

Weed makes him more productive, he’ll start doing things and multi tasking, he’ll do anything from messing around in the suit to playing rock band

Chinese take out is this mans go to munchie food, nothing brings him greater joy then inhaling wonton soup or lo mein when he’s high

He’s bringing his friends too, there’s no arguing

Like Sam, he livens the session up

Somehow become bolder, dumber and flirty at the same time when he’s high

When he comes down though, he comes down hard, and sometimes literally.

He’ll pass out or fall asleep in the weirdest places, but he’ll be enjoying it and wake up feeling well rested somehow

Bonus cuz i think it’s funny ++

John walker

Will be all cocky about taking a hit, thinking it won’t affect him or that it’ll make him cooler or something dumb

Gets scared and paranoid

Starts literally tweaking and saying stuff like “they’re coming for me”

Freaks out because he can’t handle the kush in his system

Definitely locks himself in the bathroom and cries, calls Lamar to come pick him up

Ends up becoming a hazard for everyone, so Bucky has to knock him out cold

Will probably snitch on everyone for smoking just because he had a bad time with it and he’s just jealous that he can’t vibe correctly

[caffeineforbucky]

As Time Goes By...(Chapter three)

A/N: This one took a while to write. I've just been so busy doing absolutely nothing all while procrastinating, so special thanks to that. No, but I really hope you like this, fellow reader. If you like the series, let me know if you want to be tagged!

(Side note: I've been playing RE8, thirsting over lady D, and dying over and over...it's going great! It's part of the procrastination...)

Also, has anyone seen the Bridgerton musical tiktoks? I swear I've had the 'burn for you' song in my head all last month and if you've been living under a rock...here's the link:

https://youtu.be/EwY9_m5qeow

Word Count: 2,299

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I don't know....angst? As always, John Walker!?! AKA; Fake Cap. Umm...If I missed any let me know.

(A little PSA: I don't hate John Walker: or the actor. John is a well-written character. This is just strictly for the purpose of where my story is going. I'm more reiterating how Bucky treats him in the show. Thank you!!)

You groan, rolling from your left side to lay flatly on your back, arms spread out beside you. You inhale deeply, becoming aware of the moistened dirt and crushed wildflowers beneath you as they release their aromatics. Birds chirped around you, the busy sounds of traffic fading away while you lie still in the field, oxygen feeling heavy in your lungs.

"Y/N?!"

You barely heard the worrisome calls of Sam over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You lift your head, the view of icy mountains in the distance, blurry figures making their way towards you while you somehow managed to sit up. Your head was spinning, a sharp ache on the side of your thigh.

Your eyes flickered down, taking note of the small paring knife lodged in your thigh. You exhaled softly, nodding your head at the sight of it. "Okay," You grumble in agreement. With shaking hands, you wrap your fingers around the handle, bracing yourself by taking intervolved breaths before carefully pulling it from your thigh.

You worked fast, ignoring the crunch of rocks and dirt under the acknowledgeable footsteps of Sam and Bucky. Taking babochka, you cut off the end of your pant leg, wrapping the spandex around your wounded thigh before securing it with one of the holsters, tying the ends into a knot. You remain quiet, carefully pushing yourself up to your feet, transferring all of the weight to the opposite leg, eyes drifting up to meet the guys. "Are you guys okay?" You murmur, dusting off the clumps of dirt and dead leaves from your jacket.

"Are you?!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "You're bleeding!" He points out, gesturing to the bright red staining the skin of your calf as it dripped down to your boot. The wrap might've held the wound shut, but that didn't mean blood wouldn't have soaked through.

"Oh, this?" You ask, glancing down at your leg, the wound throbbing in agony, but you did your best to avoid it. "I've had worse." That was true, from all those years fighting as an avenger. Getting shot, kicked, stabbed, beaten until you were purple, and undergoing mind control. This tiny stab was the least of your worries. It still hurt like hell, and you couldn't hide the discomfort in your features.

"Do you want a piggyback?" Bucky asks suddenly, slightly annoyed at your nonchalance and still concerned nonetheless. You weren't expecting it, the odd but kind offer, especially from the menace himself. Though you weren't one to pass up being carried. With a hesitant nod, you agree, watching Bucky crouch just a bit, allowing you to climb on his back.

The position was awkward for both of you. With his hands tightening on the back of your knees and your arms wrapped around his neck, neither of you could think straight. Yet, you were still thankful. The road to the airport was a long one, and you weren't sure if you could make it in your state. Bucky held you as if you weighed nothing, his super-soldier strength showing off while he carried you on his back, footsteps matching up with Sam. He didn't mind doing it, especially since he was the one who offered, and the proximity was just a bonus.

"Sorry about Redwing," Bucky muses, breaking the silence while the three of you sauntered down the empty road. There was nothing for miles, only empty plains of grass and dirt. Young trees scattered, lacking the greenery around them, evident of the cold weather in Munich.

"No, you're not," Sam remarks, narrowing his eyes to a pinprick at the winter soldier. "You've always hated Redwing."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry about it," Bucky grumbles, tightening his hold on you as he felt you slipping. You gasp at the sudden strength, clinging better to his shoulders as well. "How're you doin' up there?" He asks, jaw clenching from your touch.

"All things considering," You sigh, pushing aside the butterflies in your tummy at how close you were to Bucky. "I've been better. We've gotta find out where that super serum is coming from."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, glancing at you. "-And how the hell after 80 years are there eight super-soldiers runnin' loose?"

Loud honks of a horn ring in your ears, tires treading on the gravel as an army jeep slows down beside the three of you. "So, that didn't go as planned, huh?" John chuckles, pushing the door open only for you to keep walking, paying no mind to the man in stars and stripes.

"Okay, keep going," John utters, signaling the driver to keep up as he pulls the door shut. "Look, at least we know what we're up against, huh? And I'm pretty sure it's one of the big three...so,"

"Aliens, androids, or wizards," Lemar comments as John nods his head in agreement.

"There's no such thing as wizards!" Bucky grunts, keeping his eyes forward, hands on the back of your knees.

"Fine, aliens or androids," John settles, sharing a look with his best friend beside him. "Look, it's 20 miles to the airport, and you guys need a ride. Gary, stop," He instructs, the wheels slowing down. John opens the door once again. "Get in," He sighs, motioning all of you inside the jeep as Bucky and Sam's footsteps came to a halt.

Bucky gently sets you down, taking note of the small whimpers falling from your lips. No matter how tough you appeared to be, you still carried so much vulnerability. "You okay?" He asks, eyes filled with so much concern it almost scared you. He hadn't looked at you like that in a while. "Do you want any help?"

With a soft nod, you oblige to Bucky's ask, needing more help than you anticipated. You didn't want to add any strain or force to your injury. You didn't even realize it happened, and that part of it was Sam's fault for swooping to grab you while you had a knife in hand, but you weren't going to start pointing fingers. You wrap your arm around Bucky's shoulder, using him as support while he boosts you up on the jeep after Sam climbs up first, helping you settle beside him.

"Woah!" John exclaims, almost rising to his feet at the sight of your thigh, your hands stained with blood. "Are you okay?"

With a curt nod, you adjust yourself to relieve some of the pressure while Bucky takes a seat on your left, leaving you to be right smack dab in the middle as he pulls the door shut. You blow out a breath, knowing damn well if it hadn't been for the mishap, you would've walked the damn 20 miles.

"Lemar, hand me the first aid kit," John instructs, pointing to the steel case beside his friend. You wanted to protest, but even you knew that the strap wasn't going to work. Mouthing a thank you, you take the case from Lemar's hand and clip it open.

"Okay, so we got eight super-soldiers on a bulk supply run," John continues, the jeep beginning to roll down the road. You hand the case to Sam, asking him to hold it while you searched for gauze, medical tape, and butterfly bandages, you were probably going to need stitches, but you'd worry about that later. "Why?" John asks, watching closely as you patched up your wound.

"They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during the blip," Sam answers, handing you another strip of tape. "Maybe they're just tryna help."

"They had a funny way of showing it," Bucky adds, his eyes trained on you, a hiss slipping through your lips as you roll down the remaining spandex. You sigh in relief, the ache becoming dull as you shut the case, giving it back to Lemar.

"Better?" John asks, earning a single nod as a response. "I don't think we've properly met. John Walker," he smiles, offering a shake of his hand, but you didn't move, only staring at the outstretched palm in front of you. "Does she talk?" John mumbles suddenly, looking to Sam or Bucky for a reply.

Your eyes cast down, gaze hardening at the sight of the shield in his grasp. Flashes of Steve running through your mind, the many times he'd catch you trying to throw it like he would. Steve Rogers meant a lot to you, having joined him in not signing the Sokovian accords, being an outlaw, and helping to clear Bucky's name with Sam. So, seeing a man who wasn't Steve hold the shield awoke something in you. Something unkind and hateful.

"When she wants to," You claim, John squirms in his seat, sensing the tension as your eyes flicker to his. "And frankly has no desire to speak to you."

"You don't even know me," John defends, glancing at Bucky, a sly smirk on his lips, and Sam, who rendered quiet, his eyes looking elsewhere. John sets his attention back on you, lips razor thin.

You scoff, shaking your head softly as you fold your arms over your chest. "Jonathon F. Walker," You begin, leaning back in your seat, your eyes never leaving his. "Former Captain of the U.S Army's 75th Rangers Regiment. Graduated at the top of your class from the United States Military and the first person in American history to receive three medals of honor, ran RS-one missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue."

John's tongue darts between his lips, a frown spreading throughout his forehead at the information you were giving him. Either you did research on him or, you just read his file, which you had done both. You were not one to go into a mission without potentially knowing who you were up against. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"So you saw the news?" John chuckles, the frown falling from his features while he shrugs. "Big deal, so did the entire world."

"Custer's Grove High school alumni."

John's smile falters.

"There you met, Lemar Hoskins and your current wife," You tilt your head in curiosity. "Olivia, right? Or am I getting it wrong?"

Clearing his throat softly, John broke eye contact with you. So you did know him, and you probably knew more than you led on. "Do they always just stare like that?" He gestures between you and Bucky, who had displayed the same distaste for him.

Sam glances beside him, observing the matched body language you shared with Bucky, its no wonder Bucky had taken a liking to you, even if he'd never admit it. "You get used to it," Sam smirks, turning his head back to Walker.

"Okay..." John drags, eyes flickering to the more sensible one of the trio, and that was Sam. "Look, that serum doesn't have the greatest track record, no offense," He waves his hand, dismissing the insult directed towards the only super-soldier in the car.

"We need to figure out where they're going. How'd you track 'em here?" Sam asks, "The flag smashers."

"Uh," Lemar murmurs, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't track them. We tracked you through Redwing."

"You hacked my tech!?" Sam gripes, straightening out his back as he sat up.

"Sorry," John laughs, "It's not exactly hacking. It's government property...kind of the government. Alright, you know things have gotten kind of..."

"Chaotic," Lemar adds.

"Yeah," John nods in agreement. "The GRC, they're doing their best to get things up and running smoothly post blip. If you guys teamed up with us-"

"No." Bucky interrupts. He couldn't let Walker finish that sentence.

"I've got mad respect for all of you," Lemar praises, looking between the trio before him. "But you were getting your asses kicked 'til we showed up."

"And who are you?" Bucky bemuses, cocking a brow at the man next to John.

"Lemar Hoskins," You mention, "I could've sworn we've been through this." You shake your head at the old man, for being 106, he couldn't hear a thing.

"I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear," Sam shrugs, "I'm gonna need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins."

"I'm Battlestar, John's partner."

"Battlestar?" Bucky repeats, narrowing his eyes at Lemar as he nods, confirming his alias. "Stop the car!" Bucky shouts suddenly, brakes screeching as the wheels come to a stop in the middle of the road. Bucky pulls open the handle, ducking, as to not rail his head on the bar-frame above him before hopping off the jeep.

"Look, I get it, okay?" John sighs, calling after Bucky. "I get the attitude, I do. You didn't think the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky. And I'm not trying to be Steve!"

"Good," You interject, rendering John to settle his eyes on you. "Because you will never be. And just because you're the one wielding it..." You grab the bar above your head, using it to pull yourself up. "It doesn't make you Captain America." And with that, you carefully jump off the jeep, following after the heated super-soldier.

Sighing in frustration, he rips his eyes away from your retreating figures. "I'm not trying to replace him either. I'm just trying to be the best Captain America I can be." He explains to Sam, hoping the falcon would cut him some slack. "-And it'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingman on my side."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise, his tongue darting between his lips. "It's always that last line," He scoffs, shaking his head as he jumped off the car, following you and Bucky.

John's lips thin out, face scrunching in a scowl. "Let's go," He instructs. The sound of the jeep leaving making its way to your ears.

[alastorseye]

About Remadora

When I say I really hate the HP fandom, I'm talking about the "fans" that hate everything about the saga, but still having Harry Potter accounts. They change the original story, claim that fanonical facts are canon, and launch hatred and death threats at those who simply like HARRY POTTER JUST THE WAY IT IS. Yes, I'm mostly talking about Marauders fans, which I joined after reading the books because I thought it would be interesting and funny. I suddenly realized how toxic and hateful that fandom was, it's like a cult dedicated to deifying Remus, Sirius, James and Regulus, and it seems that hating Snape, Dumbledore, and Remadora is a requirement to be a part of it.

At the beginning I used to consider Wolfstar as something funny, a bromance, it never bothered me, I mean... every fandom has fanon ships and I respect that, but the way they always hate Remadora and their shippers is something that MUST stop.

"You see!" said a strained voice. Tonks was glaring at Lupin. "She still wants to marry him, even though he's been bitten! She doesn't care!"

"It's different," said Lupin, barely moving his lips and looking suddenly tense. "Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely -"

"But I don't care either, I don't care!" said Tonks, seizing the front ofLupin's robes and shaking them. "I've told you a million times. . . ." And the meaning of Tonks's Patronus and her mouse-colored hair, and the reason she had come running to find Dumbledore when she had heard a rumor someone had been attacked by Greyback, all suddenly became clear to Harry; it had not been Sirius that Tonks had fallen in love with after all."

"And I've told you a million times," said Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes,staring at the floor, "that I am too old for you, too poor . . . too dangerous. . ."

When I read this part of the HBP I realized that Remadora was my favorite Harry Potter ship. Of course I wasn't aware of the death threats I'd receive later. I've read some "reasons" why some fans hate Remadora.

"Tonks forced him!"

We all know how insecure Remus was. I don't have to explain what's written in Wizarding World (Pottermore). This is the Remus bio:

Well, we can read that Remus was really attracted to Dora.

"Remus, so often melancholy and lonely, was first amused, then impressed, then seriously smitten by the young witch. He had never fallen in love before. If it had happened in peacetime, Remus would have simply taken himself off to a new place and a new job, so that he did not have to endure the pain of watching Tonks fall in love with a handsome, young wizard in the Auror office, which was what he expected to happen. However, this was war; they were both needed in the Order of the Phoenix, and nobody knew what the next day would bring. Remus felt justified in remaining exactly where he was, keeping his feelings to himself but secretly rejoicing every time somebody paired him with Tonks on some overnight mission".

This is so sad and cute, and that's undeniable. I cried when I read it. If someone still thinking that Dora forced Remus to marry her after reading this paragraph... I mean... they're probably talking about another book series.

"The age gap!"

I'm so satisfied to know that some Remadora shippers have explained this. When it's about a kid and an adult... OF COURSE IS HORRENDOUS! Because children are not physically and mentally prepared to have romantic relationships. Wizards are legally adults at 17, REMUS MET TONKS WHEN SHE WAS 21!

I mean, many old people abuses of young people innocence, or something. But we all know that Remus wasn't one of those! He really loved Tonks, and that's canon. I don't know what's doing in the fandom people who denies canon facts.

Remus and Tonks were two physically, mentally, and legally adults loving each other.

"Remus didn't love her!"

He was an introvert, Tonks was an extrovert, she made his life better. And of course, I loved the way he introduced himself when he was trying to prove he wasn't a Death Eater:

"I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder's Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag." (Remus Lupin, DH)

Maybe I'm not the only one who perceive he was proud to be Nymphadora Tonks husband.

"I.. I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and have regretted it very much every since". (Remus Lupin, DH)

This phrase makes more sense after reading Remus bio. He used to think that he was "too poor, too dangerous" for her. He thought he wasn't enough for her. He never imagined that she would love him back. He was a werewolf, and of course he knew he was dangerous, you only need to be emphatic to realize he tried to get away from Tonks because he loved her, he didn't want to hurt his beloved woman!

If you don't believe me, read this again. It's in the chapter 11 of Deathly Hallows:

"Don't you understand what I've done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I've made her an outcast!"

So, if Remus was trying to escape it's because he loved them, he thought he spoiled their lives. And of course, no one likes to feel that their influence is bad for someone they love!

"Their relationship came from nowhere! They don't have a development"

Well, the saga's name is HARRY POTTER, not The Love Life of Remus Lupin. The story is about the tragic life of this kid and everything he went through to save the world of a cruel and dark villain. I know many readers are young people in love, and they only want to ship everything, but that's not the main topic here, maybe mother's love would be the topic. Of course Ron and Hermione had a development because they were HARRY'S BEST FRIENDS, and they were always with him, from Philosopher's Stone to Cursed Child. Remus and Tonks are minor characters, and it's funny the fact that this usually comes from Wolfstar shippers, so... is Wolfstar more developed than Remadora?! I mean... they can ship whatever they want, Snape and the Sorting Hat, Dobby and Voldemort, anything, but that does not give them the right to disrespect such a cute, tragic and beautiful canon ship as Remadora.

"They are queercoded! Their relationship is homophobic!"

It's surprising to hear this. It's like... people gets angry just because the author doesn't make queer their favourite characters? I will explain why I don't think Remus and Tonks are "queercoded":

Whether through their dress, their behavior, their language, or other subtle forms of implication, queer characters were written or designed to communicate their unstated queerness to those who were searching for representation.

And this is the definition on the website Pride.com:

"Using LGBTQIA tropes and stereotypes to allude to a character's sexuality without explicitly confirming it in the text."

We all know that Disney used queercoding on characters like Ursula, Scar, Jaffar. And why do we know that? Because DISNEY WANTED TO PORTRAY THEM LIKE THAT, get it? Disney, THE CREATORS MADE THESE CHARACTERS INTENTIONALLY QUEER. How? BASED ON STEREOTYPES.

And going back to Remadora, I was really happy to see by first time a bada*ass woman, with short hair who wasn't portrayed as a lesbian just because the way she looks. This character didn't follow the: "Straight women have long hair and are girly", and "short dyied hair is for lesbians". I'm very very very surprised the fandom follows these stereotypes.

About Remus: I don't know how the phrase "being a werewolf is a metaphor about people with HIV AIDS" means "he's gay". Fenrir Greyback bit him when he was a kid. Many people interpret this as "r4pe". Okay, even thinking that it is the meaning of the "bite", I still cannot understand how being "r4ped" and "infected" makes him queer. Is this (again) a stereotype about people with AIDS and gay?

"JK Rowling created Remadora because she didn't like people shipping Wolfstar!"

It is true that fans love shipping everything, they queerbait and queercode everything. That's great, that's not the problem. The problem is when people starts bashing fans who ship canon straight couples. A very good example is the polemic on Falcon and Bucky relationship, some fans wanted them to be a gay couple, Anthony Mackie said that two men can only be friends, and there is no need to always give them a romantic connotation. People cancelled him, they called him homophobic. Yes, just because a person with authority (on the story they're following") didn't like the fact of queercoding their favourite characters. It's the same about Remadora.

Grindeldore is a very interesting and underrated couple by the way. You can love or hate JK Rowling, but the truth is that Harry Potter story is hers, and even if Remadora was "because she didn't like Wolfstar", she is the author, it was her mind where these characters first appeared, as a big Harry Potter fan I respect and like the original story, that's not a sin. An author has the right to make some changes if some characters were misunderstood by the readers.

(Yes, I wrote this a bit angrily since I've seen too much hate towards Remadora shippers)

[starks-hero]

His Last Vow

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Request: Hey! I just adore your writings, thank you for existing. ❤ I watched Sherlock 4x01 yesterday, and I just can't get over what happened there. I'm truly afraid what will happen next... So I thought if you could write a fic about this episode. I mean something like this: after all what happened in the Aquarium, S. goes home to Y/N, his girlfriend, totally fallen apart, trembling, then he starts like... and destroying everything at home, and Y/N tries to soothe him, crying, fluff etc. THANK YOUUU <3 - anonymous

Summary: You can't stop Sherlock from falling apart, but you can certainly help pick up the pieces.

Word Count: 1,725

Warnings: lots of angst with some compensating fluff, a very brief mention of Sherlock's drug use, Spoilers for 4x01

“Come on, pick up!” You yelled as Sherlock's phone once again went straight to voicemail. You'd been trying to get through to him for over an hour and your worry was slowly melting into frustration.

It had been a few hours since he'd left the flat to ‘think without any distractions’, but you didn't take into account that he'd be gone this long. You knew this case meant more to him than most, especially considering it concerned Mary, which made you all the more worried.

You tried calling him once more, but when you were greeted with the same blunt voicemail, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Grabbing your coat, you pulled Mary's number up on your phone. You attempted to calm your anxious mind by telling yourself that Sherlock had probably just dragged John off on some side case. And if anyone was going to know where the boys were, it was Mary.

Just as you pressed ‘call’ and opened the door to leave, you were greeted by the familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs. You sighed in relief.

“Where have you been? I was starting to get-,” Your voice died down in your throat when Sherlock entered the flat.

His chest was heaving and his body trembled, his cheeks were stained with tears and his eyes resembled those of a scared child. He looked completely distraught.

“Sherlock?” Your voice was timid as he entered the flat. You studied him carefully before reaching out for his hand. You stopped a few inches short. Sherlock's gloved hand, along with the once white sleeve of his shirt was now stained in a dark crimson red. Your heart fell out of your chest when you realised what it was. Blood.

“Sherlock,” your voice wavered. “What happened?”

You didn't receive a reply. Sherlock's back was to you, but you could still clearly see his struggle to breathe as his shoulders tensed. He pulled off his gloves slowly, hands shaking.

The room was deathly quiet. And then it wasn't. Whatever had happened, whatever Sherlock was feeling, whatever he had pent up inside came out all at once in a blind rage.

One sweep of his arm sent several books and heaps of paper flying from the desk, he brought his fist down on the tables top so hard you swore you heard the wood splinter. Several more books were pulled from the bookcase and not even the sentiment Sherlock held for his skull was enough to stop the youngest Holmes from picking up the human remain and chucking it across the room. His rage continued to the kitchen as the table was completely overturned, any unfortunate glass or cutlery that had been left on its surface shattering into ceramic shards as they met the cold floor. One of the cupboards was almost completely taken off its hinges. And through all of this, Sherlock cried.

You watched on in shock, frozen to the spot as you watched Sherlock destroy anything he came in contact with. No matter how much your mind yelled at you to do something, to move and comfort the man you loved, the horror kept you glued to the spot. Whatever had happened, had destroyed Sherlock entirely. You weren't entirely sure you'd be capable of dealing with it.

You were pulled from your frozen state as Sherlock turned his anger to the flat door. His fist connected with the wood. Once, twice, over and over. The timber was splintering and Sherlock's knuckles were bloodied, but he didn't stop. He just kept going, his strangled shouts tearing at your heart.

“Sherlock,” You approached him slowly but with unfaltering trust. Despite the violence you'd just witnessed unfold in the flat, you weren't afraid of Sherlock, not for a second.

“Hey, hey-,” Your hand brushed his shoulder but it didn't lessen his assault on the door. “Sherlock, stop it.”

Blood was flowing freely from his knuckles down his fingers in bright crimson lines.

“Stop it!”

Grabbing hold of his shoulder and forcibly pulling him away from the abused piece of wood. He struggled against you, attempting to push you away, but despite being taller and stronger than you, you managed to hold your ground against him. (The bloodied hand, sprained wrist and potentially broken fingers weren't playing in his favour.)

“Let me go!” Sherlock's tone was heart-wrenching, his voice hoarse from the shouting he'd done moments before. His vocal cords were spent. “Let me go!” He continued to struggle against you. His voice no longer resembled that of the stoic, detective you'd fallen for, but of a terrified child that had witnessed something they shouldn't have. “Let me-”

Sherlock's harrowing shouts broke into distressed sobs. He stopped fighting and allowed himself to collapse against you. The tears dampened your skin as Sherlock buried himself into the crook of your neck.

Sherlock's legs gave way and he was sent to the ground, you went with him. He clutched onto you for dear life, fingers clutching at your shoulders so tightly you could feel his nails digging into your skin. He was holding you so closely against him it was beginning to constrict your ability to breathe. But you didn't complain. You just kept running your hand through his hair and doing your best to soothe him.

You had never seen him in such a state. In fact, you'd never seen anyone in such a state. Everything you'd been through with Sherlock, the cases, the drugs, all of it and you'd never seen an outburst that could even begin to compare to the magnitude of the one you'd just witnessed.

“Sherlock,” you managed after a while, your own voice trembling slightly. “What happened?”

His voice wavered, sobs wracking his body. You ran your hand through his hair again.

“Hey, look at me,” your hand gently caressed his cheek and wiped away stray tears, your thumb catching them as they continued to fall. “It's okay, whatever happened, it's okay. Just talk to me, Sherlock.” You masterfully hid your worry beneath a gentle tone as you urged him to continue.

Sherlock swallowed down a rising sob and managed to choke out a somewhat coherent answer.

“Mary,” he cried. “She's dead.”

Your heart stopped beating for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Tears formed in your eyes as the world shattered around you at the revelation. When you finally exhaled, reality hit.

Sherlock broke again and this time, you broke with him.

You cried into Sherlock's shoulder. You cried for Mary, your best friend. You cried for John, who'd lost his wife and for little Rosie, who'd lost her mother. You weren't quite sure just how long you spent weeping, all you could hear was the same two words playing on repeat in your mind. ‘She’s dead’.

You were only pulled back to what was left of your reality by the sound of Sherlock's distraught voice.

“It's-It's my fault!” Sherlock cried and you swore you'd never heard anyone sound so broken. “I killed her.”

“Sherlock,” you tried, expression falling when he flinched away from your touch. “Sherlock, please.” You carefully slipped your hand into his and he grasped onto it like a lifeline. “Listen to me. You didn't kill her. Mary, she-” you couldn't find the words to finish.

You knew Sherlock was lying, you may not have known the whole story yet but you knew Sherlock hadn't killed Mary. But he was blaming himself, and you couldn't allow him carry that kind of weight.

“It's going to be okay, I promise. We'll- we'll figure it out.”

You knew your words were empty. Mary was dead. The life you'd known yesterday was gone. It wasn't going to be okay, not for a long time if ever. But you needed to say something, anything, to help ease the heartache you were both feeling. You had to be strong, for him.

“I promised,” Sherlock's voice had been reduced to a whimper. “I- I promised I'd keep her safe.”

Having no other empty promises to offer, you did the only thing your distressed mind would allow. You pulled Sherlock against you and held him close. He sobbed into your shoulder, completely inconsolable.

“It's okay,” you comforted, holding the pieces together as Sherlock broke in your arms. “It's okay, I'm here.”

You glanced around the wreckage of the flat. Both your belongings were strewn along the floor, mostly in pieces. But none of that mattered, not now. At the moment there was only one broken thing you were focused on fixing.

Wordlessly, you stood. Sherlock's hold on you tightened, almost as if he feared you were leaving him. But a comforting hand grasping his own eased his worries. You pulled him to his feet and together, navigated across the treacherous kitchen floor that was covered in broken glass.

You pulled the first aid kit from the cupboard and Sherlock caught on, obediently seating himself in one of the chairs that had remained standing during his outburst.

Your fingers gently caught Sherlock's wrist and drew his hand close to you. First, you washed away the blood and then pressed the disinfectant wipe to his knuckles. Sherlock didn't react.

You sniffled as you worked, wiping at your eyes. Sherlock made no comment, his own tears were yet to stop. Focusing on Sherlock's injury and the task at hand was currently the only thing stopping you from breaking again.

You dried the wound and bandaged it up, not that it was necessarily needed, but it was something to focus on.

When you finished tending to the injury, you didn't let go of Sherlock's hand. You sat together for a moment, the silence deafening.

You glanced at him through blurred vision. His eyes reflected what you were both feeling. You were both broken. Mary, your best friend, was gone and the family you'd both found had been torn apart.

Sherlock pulled you into him, his strong hold suggesting that he didn't plan on letting go anytime soon. You held him just as tightly.

You sat together amidst the wreckage, mourning both Mary and the life you'd both had just hours earlier. You'd both lost your best friend and you knew the fallout would be unimaginable. But for now, you had each other, and you hoped that would be enough to make it through what was to come.

~~~~~~

Forever tag list: @miraclesoflove​ @bakerstreethound​ @kealohilani-tepise

Sherlock tag list: @fanfictionsilove​ @quentawewe​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @starrykitn​  @doozywoozy​ @xxinvisiblexx​ @the-worst-critic​ @Jellyfishbeansontoast @Xhz17x

[wicked-mind]

The King and Queen: Chapter Five

Summary: Y/N is the Queen of Guns and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the King of New York City. She wants him as a buyer, but Bucky wants her to be his queen. After all, every King needs a Queen.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: +18 only, AU, Mafia!Bucky, Dark!Bucky, sexual content, drugs and guns mentioned, swearing, heart problems, pregnancy, lots of torture ( I put anything in that could be considered a trigger warning. If I missed any, let me know )

Series Masterlist

All Writings List

Chapter five - The Uncooperative Queen

Natasha and Steve watched Bucky go on a rampage through the new club with the wooden bat, smashing anything he could. Steve had never seen Bucky in such a rage to the point of destroying something he worked so hard for, “What are we going to do, Nat?” He asks softly to the redhead.

Natasha watched Bucky closely, the phone with the live stream of Y/N still in her hand, “You are going to take James home.” She said as she looked up to Steve, “You’re going to try and calm him down so he doesn’t destroy everything in his path.”

Steve’s nodded at her words, wondering how she could be so calm in a situation like this, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do my job. I have to call the IRA Kings and the cartel to let them know what happened.” Natasha told Steve, passing him the phone, “Find a charger for that, don’t let it die. Try not to let him watch, but keep a close eye on it. She may try to give us some hints.” She finished before walking out the doors of the club.

Steve looked at the phone for a moment at the unconscious Y/N, before putting it in his pocket. He approached Bucky carefully, not wanting to be on the wrong side of the bat he carried, “Buck,” He said, “Let’s go home, see what we can figure out.”

Bucky turned to Steve, angry veins pulsing from his neck. He gripped the bat before swinging at glasses that were on the bar, “They fucking took her, Steve!” He yelled, “I let her get taken! I should’ve taken her to the hospital myself! Dammit!” He took another swing at a mirror on the wall, shattering it.

Steve stood in his spot, watching Bucky swing the bat, “Look, Buck,” He began, “Nobody’s home to feed Alpine. You should go feed the cat, for Y/N, right?” He asks, hoping to center his friend back from the rage that had built up.

Bucky looked at Steve at he spoke, nodding slowly at the mention of feeding Y/N’s cat. He drops the bat on the floor, “Right, Alpine.” He muttered out, at least there was something he could do for Y/N even it was just making sure her cat was taken care of. He followed Steve out of the club, getting in the car.

The ride home was silent, Bucky just staring out the window as he processed what was happening. Y/N was somewhere, probably freezing and being tortured. He couldn’t get the images of her out of his brain. He needed her back with him. How is a king supposed to function without his queen? When they got back to Bucky’s home, he walked inside in silence, immediately finding Alpine and scooping the cat up into his arms and walking over to the food bowl. He fed Alpine, stroking the white fur softly as he was lost in his own thoughts. Steve watched Bucky closely, wondering when the rage would hit him again. Natasha walked in a few moments later, clearing her throat to grab their attention, “There’s some things we need to talk about, James.” She said, keeping her face straight and emotionless.

Bucky and Steve both looked to Natasha as she spoke, curious what information was about to come out from the redhead. Bucky walked towards her, tucking his hands in his pocket as he narrowed his eyes, “What do you know, Natasha?”

Natasha watched Bucky carefully as he approached, “What do you know about the cartel deal that Y/N has?” She asks.

Bucky’s face twisted into confusion at the question, thinking he knew everything about Y/N’s business but now feeling unsure on how Nat’s question was presented, “I think the better question is what don’t I know?” He asks through his teeth.

Natasha let out small sigh, looking around the room as she thought about the information she was about to divulge before her eyes landed back to Bucky, “The cartel. Did Y/N ever tell you how she got the deal with them?”

Bucky kept his narrowed eyes on Natasha’s face, pulling a hand out of his pocket to run through his dark hair, “Her second husband wanted out of the deal, she didn’t. They decided to keep the deal going with her instead.” 

Natasha bit her lip at his words before speaking again, “That’s technically true.” She said, “But what she couldn’t tell you is that when her second husband wanted out from dealing guns to the cartel, Y/N was approached by two deep undercover CIA agents in the cartel. Even the United States Government has a side in the cartel war. They told her if she didn’t keep the pipeline to guns open as the new boss, they’d ruin everything for her. Throw her and every affiliate of her’s in jail for the rest of their lives. So they offered her a deal- keep the pipeline open as well as keeping the secret of the CIA agents and she would be considered untouchable by any law enforcement agency unless there was indisputable footage of her committing crimes. Why do you think no agency has investigated or came after you two since you’ve met? Y/N was going to have you meet the two CIA agents in a few weeks during a gun exchange, sort things out with them.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared in anger at the new information, he had no idea. He thought it was odd nobody ever asked questions when Y/N and himself committed their ruthless crimes and now he knew why, “She’s been working hand in hand with the CIA and hasn’t told me?!” He suddenly yelled at Natasha, his hands gripping into fists.

Natasha stayed calm at Bucky’s anger, “She was going to tell you. Nobody knows except Y/N, myself, and now you and Steve.” She told him, her voice even, “I’ve informed them what happened. The CIA agents are doing everything in their power to try and figure out where the stream is coming from so we can find Y/N but it is bouncing through different VPNs all over the world.”

Bucky brought his hand to his face, taking deep breath. This information was a lot to process with everything going on. Y/N, his wife, was pregnant, kidnapped, being tortured, and was working with agents of the CIA. He could feel the rage slipping in, but didn’t want to disturb Alpine from eating the food. He points his finger suddenly at Natasha, “You will tell me immediately if the CIA come up with any information.” He hissed out at her. He walks over to Steve, holding out his hand for the phone with the live stream of Y/N on it. Steve handed it over willingly, not wanting to be on the other end of Bucky’s rage if he denied giving it to him, “I’ll be in my office.” He muttered out, opening the phone to see Y/N still sitting in the chair unconscious and alone. Bucky walks to his office, shutting the door behind him and sitting in his chair. He propped the phone up on his desk and sat back in his chair, staring at the live stream.

——

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, lifting her head as she looked around the room. Her cheek stung, figuring the blow to her face had opened up a small cut on her cheek bone. She looked around in the darkness, the only light in the room from the blinking red light on camera in front of her. Y/N stared into the lens of the camera, wondering who was watching. Her eyes flickered down to the tight ropes around her wrists, trying to pull her hand to get the ropes to give any leeway with no avail. She clenched her teeth as she took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Y/N closed her eyes as she focused on her breathing, plans plotting her her head for the next time Walker would come in.

——

Bucky didn’t sleep, instead watching Y/N all night on the phone. He had gotten a charger for it so it didn’t die. He sipped on a glass of whiskey as he watched her breathe, knowing she was trying to stay calm and keep her heart rate down. He wished he could help calm her down, know she was going to be okay. But Y/N was out of his grasp and all he could do was watch and hope she knew he was there watching over her.

Natasha and Steve came into Bucky’s office in the morning. Steve sat in a chair across from Bucky, trying to get a read on how he was holding up. Natasha walked around to stand by Bucky to look at the phone, just in time to see John Walker approaching what looked like an unconscious Y/N, “As long as she doesn’t piss him off, he won’t hurt her too bad. He has to keep her alive for the red room.”

Steve almost scoffed at Natasha’s words but held it back, “Have you met her? She specializes in pissing people off.” 

——

Y/N heard the steel door start to open, slumping her head down and holding her breath. She relaxed her body, making it look like she wasn’t breathing and she was lifeless.

“Shit, get the doctor.” Walker spat out thinking Y/N may have had a heart attack. He walked over and pulled Y/N’s hair to prop her head up to see if she was awake. He leans his head down, his ear by her mouth to listen for any breathing.

Y/N opened her eyes when she felt him close to her face, leaning her head forward and biting down hard on Walker’s ear before pulling her head back. She heard him scream and pull away, causing the ear to tear from his head. She spit his ear onto the floor, then spit again to get the blood out of her mouth, “Sorry not sorry.” She hissed out at him.

Walker brought his hand up to feel his ear which was now missing, looking at it on the floor, “You fucking cunt.” He screamed at Y/N, moving toward her and kicked her in the chest, causing Y/N and the chair to fall backwards. He was on her in seconds, throwing punches to her face. He was eventually pulled back by another man.

Bucky tensed at the sight of Y/N getting punched out of his view. He couldn’t see where Walker was punching her but prayed it wasn’t the stomach. Steve had stood and moved around the desk to watch also, his lips parted in shock at the sight. Bucky grips the glass of whiskey hard enough that the glass started to crack in his hands. He listened intently to the sound, hoping for any sign Y/N was alright. He felt a little relief when he saw a doctor enter the view of the camera.

A doctor came into the steel container, “Oh my god.” He gasped as he saw Walker without an ear and Y/N tipped over. This was the same doctor that had told Y/N she was pregnant the day before, he had been taken due to him knowing about Y/N’s heart condition and was tasked with keeping her alive, “If you get the dismembered ear on ice, I can stitch it back.” He told Walker, who picked up his ear and exited the container followed by the rest of his team. The doctor walked over to Y/N, “Hey, hey Y/N. It’s me, Doctor Avery.” He told her as she looked at the ceiling. Y/N’s face was all red, her eyebrow bleeding, her lip split, as well as a blood vessel popped in her right eye. Doctor Avery could tell that she had a broken nose, and knew that she was going to have large bruises and black eyes all along her face based on the fact that her face was already red and turning deeper shades of purple already, “Let’s sit you back up.” He told Y/N, pulling the chair up to the sitting position again. He noticed some blood on the back of her head and a laceration caused when she fell backwards and hit her head on the steel floor.

As soon as Bucky saw Y/N’s face, the glass in his hand cracked apart in his hard grasp. He wanted to throw everything off his desk at the wall, but contained the anger as he had to see if Y/N was okay. Natasha leaned forward to get a better look at Y/N’s injuries on the screen of the phone. Steve was promptly handing Bucky a towel for the mess of whiskey from the shattered glass.

Y/N let out a deep breath as Doctor Avery sat her back up, looking over at him, “I know you said no strenuous activities, but I just couldn’t help myself.” She breathed out with a small smile towards him, slightly wheezing as the air passed her lips.

Doctor Avery couldn’t help but smile a slight bit at her comment. At least she was awake and responsive which was a good sign. He walks over to the bag he brought with him, pulling out a machine to monitor her heart rate, oxygen, and blood pressure. He connects it to her finger and watches the stats go up on the screen. Her blood pressure was a little high, but her heart rate and oxygen were low which was of some concern, “Well, not great but alright given the situation we are in. Your oxygen and wheezing are concerning, could’ve punctured a lung when he kicked your chest.” He told her, hearing her wheeze with every breath and looking at the forming bruise of a footprint on Y/N’s chest.

Y/N blinked tiredly, her vision having  black spots from the beating she just took to her face. She looked at the doors to see if anybody was coming before leaning as close to the doctor as she could, “You brought an emergency medical bag, “ She breathed out towards him quietly, not loud enough for the speakers on the camera to pick up, “I’ve stolen enough of those I know there’s some sort of phone in there, probably satellite for emergencies.” She swallowed hard, it felt hard to breathe and some pain filled her chest with each breath, “You weren’t blindfolded when you came in, you know where we are which means they’ll kill you when you aren’t useful anymore.” She informed him, her voice still low, “I need you to make a call.”

The doctor promptly dialed the number on the phone in the bag Y/N had told him, quickly putting it in his pocket without letting the camera see. He left the line open and went back to treating Y/N, cleaning up the gash on the back of her head so he could apply some stitches.

“What are they saying? I can’t hear them!” Bucky hollered as he watched Y/N talk to the doctor and then fumbling in his bad. Natasha’s brow furrowed as her phone started ringing, looking at the screen. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered. She held the speaker to her ear, hearing Y/N’s and the doctors voice. She quickly put it on speaker and pressed the mute button so nobody would hear her voice on the other side of the line, “It’s Y/N. The doctor must’ve had a phone in his bag.” She informed Bucky and Steve, placing the phone onto the desk. They could hear Y/N wheezing with every breath, listening intently on what she and the doctor were saying.

Y/N kept blinking hard to keep her eyes open, the spots in her sight growing in size. She took deep breathes, each hitched with a soft wheeze, “Where are we besides in a shipping container?” She asked the doctor in a hushed tone so the camera audio wouldn’t pick it up but only the phone would, wanting to get information out of him and hoping that someone on the other end of the line was listening. 

The doctor cleared his throat, trying to sound as normal as possible to not give any Hydra men outside the container suspicion, “The Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn.” He answered softly so the camera didn’t hear but hoped the phone would, slowly stitching up the laceration on her skull.

Bucky stood immediately as he heard the location, “Let’s go.” He demanded. Natasha shook her head as she heard the steel doors opening, “No wait, look, somebody’s coming in."

Y/N snapped her eyes open when she heard the steel door open, looking wide awake as Walker walked in. She sat herself up not wanting to show any weakness to her captor. Her eyes narrowed to look like she was glaring but she was really just trying to focus her vision. Her heart rate jumped a little bit on the monitor, causing it to beep quickly, “What? One bite out of you wasn’t enough?” She hissed out at Walker coldly, trying to hold back the soft wheezes.

Walker glared at her. He had a large gauze bandage where his right ear should be, “You’ll pay for that, bitch.” He warned lowly as he walked towards the table which had various tools and knives placed on it. He picked up a black knife slowly, admiring it, “Zemo wants to know where your gun warehouse is. But more importantly, he wants to know where Barnes keeps his drug supply.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed a little, “Is that the demands? You want to steal our supply?.” She said shaking her head at him, “I’m not telling you shit. I won’t be commanded or controlled by some man who has to tie down a woman just to get her in her underwear.”

Walker walked up to her, wrapping his hand around her throat roughly and glaring at her, “I know that you know everything. Kings tell their whores every detail.” He growled out at her, running the knife along the inside of her bare thigh with just enough pressure to draw blood in small lines, “Now tell me.”

Y/N winced slightly at the feeling of her thigh being sliced, but kept a glare on her face to the man who held her throat in his hand. It was already hard to breathe and this wasn’t helping, “Fine, fine.” She managed to hiss out at him, causing him to remove his hand from her throat. 

Bucky frowned slightly, wondering what Y/N was going to say. Whatever information she was about to give, he would have to prepare to take care of and switch around as to not let Hydra get their supply.

Y/N took in a deep breath before speaking again, “You want information on James? Fine… If you….” She breathed out softly, her head down. A slow smile painted across her lips as she continued, “If you call him ‘daddy’ he’ll make sure you have an extra orgasm.” She giggled softly.

Bucky almost smiled at her reply. That was Y/N, quick with the comebacks and a sharp, savage tongue. But his expression quickly turned to rage again.

Walker smiled darkly as if this was the reaction he was hoping for, an extra reason to cause Y/N pain. He forcefully stabbed the knife into Y/N’s left thigh, twisting it a little. He watched Y/N scream at the pain as the blade twisted in her leg. The heart rate monitor started beeping rapidly as she screamed, her heart rate jumping into the hundreds in a split second.

“You better just kill me.” Y/N growled out, “Because when I get out of here, and I will, I am going to lock you up in my basement!” Y/N screamed at Walker, “I’m going to keep you alive for weeks. I’m going to burn all the skin off of your body slowly, pull out your eyes with a grapefruit spoon, and feed them to my cat.”

Bucky looked at Natasha, “We are leaving. Now!” He yelled at her, not wanting to see Y/N be put through anymore than she already had. He didn’t know how much more her heart could take, not to mention the possibility of harm to his unborn child.

Natasha looked at him, putting our her hand on his chest to stop him, “No, you aren’t going in there. You will be killed on sight and with the state you’re in, you won’t be stealthy about it. The CIA agents have arrived in the state. The two of them and I will take care of this. You can wait in the car or meet us at the hospital.” She told him sternly. This was the best option to keep everybody alive. They couldn’t go in there guns blazing in a situation like this. Walker could kill Y/N as soon as he heard a commotion. 

Bucky glared at her command, “Are you fucking kidding me?! Wait in the car?! Do I look like someone you can boss around?!” He screamed at her, pushing Natasha’s hand away from him aggressively. He was ready to force her out of his way when Steve got between them.

Steve got in between the two, facing Bucky, “Go Nat, I’ll keep him here.” He said, knowing this was the best option. Steve was going to have to do everything he could to keep Bucky out of this situation for his own safety and Y/N’s, “Sorry Buck, it’s for your family’s own good.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @mysticapples17​ @ttalisa​ @thomaslefteyebrow​ @certainwonderlandperfection​ @rorodendra​ @hommoturttle​ @loverboyseb​

If I missed anyone on the tag list or you’d like to be added, please let me know. As always, thank you for the support (:

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

So I watched 10.09 recently, and it has that part where Dean tells a story about him basically being almost roofied as a teen, but somehow it ends up framed as the funny joke and yet another proof that John "did what he could", and I kind of hate this? And it's the same episode in which MoC!Dean killed guys that kidnapped and tried to rape Claire, and you'd think writers would've addressed the parallels and acknowledge that Dean could've been triggered by this situation. 1/2

2/2 But in the end, it's never addressed, and the whole situation is framed as the proof that Dean is evil now. And I'm not even sure what I am trying to say, but with that being the show's approach back in s10, I'm not surprised about the finale anymore. Guess we should've known?

That’s an excellent angle to look at the issue because the Mark of Cain arc is a clear example of how people with different experiences will see the same thing in wildly different ways. There’s this phase of season 10 where everyone is like “oh no Dean is Getting Worse” and when you look at what Dean is doing... you actually go “...good for him”.

Let’s give Caesar what belongs to Caesar. It’s not “the writers” in this case, it’s Dabb. Plenty of other writers don’t fall into this John apologism thing. Just look at how the episode before Lebanon, written by Buckner and Ross Leming, says that sometimes John would temporarily kick Dean out because he was “pissed at him” despite Dean always taking his side to mantain the peace. It almost seems like a statement to sprinkle some salt given what Dabb does in Lebanon, you know? Maybe not, but there is a tension between “John was shitty” writers and “John did his best” writers.

In hindsight, we gave Dabb too much of the benefit of the doubt. We were like, weeell, that’s supposed to be way the characters perceive the truth, which is distorted by the trauma... But now it’s obvious that he truly believed in the John-did-his-best version. He brought him back and got Mary back with him. No matter what happened to the finale, the network didn’t print those pictures of John and Mary to hang on Sam’s wall. He never took Dean’s abuse seriously and it shows.

The “anedocte” of Dean getting drugged and “saved” by John from being raped is obviously there to parallel him with Claire. Which works! It’s so weird because it’s like. You are soooo close to getting the point. Younger Dean was assaulted just like this teenage girl is assaulted and Dean saves her... but apparently John yelling at those people is a good way of dealing with the issue, while murdering child traffickers is an overraction thus bad.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? That Dean’s murder spree is framed as an overreaction. Sam is like “tell me you had to do this! tell me it was you or them!” - the answer to which (by the narrative) is obviously no, it wasn’t self defense, he just killed them because he could. He just murdered those men for no reason except he felt like being murdery. And the audience is supposed to be like “oh no! Dean is murdery for no reason except for murderiness! That’s bad!”.

But it’s a power fantasy, isn’t it? Going on a murder spree on rapists and traffickers. I bet any people who’s been violated like that has fantasized of doing the exact thing Dean does here. Killing them all.

Dean had the physical strength and skill to kill them all, why shouldn’t he kill them? (I mean, in real life I’m against private justice because I’m a fan of the state of law, but the Supernatural universe obviously works on different principles than the state of law. Again, it’s a fictional narrative that plays out as a fantasy for the audience, so.)

So what was Dabb’s intention? I’m afraid it’s the worst one. “John Winchester’s not going to win any Number One Dad awards, you know? But, you know, damn if he wasn’t there when we needed him”. What the fuck, Dabb? It’s been established since season 1 that John WASN’T there when they needed him. Which... I’m afraid... leads us to the Cas-Claire plot in the episode. Cas has fucked off with Jimmy’s body leaving Claire on her own. Parallels how John wasn’t going to win wny Number One Dad awards. But! Cas is there when Claire Really Needs Him i.e. when she’s about to be raped by older men. Parallels how John was there when Dean Really Needed Him i.e. when he was about to be raped by older men.

I think the point is to say, Cas kinda sucked because he took Claire’s dad away but hey! He’s actually a good figure for Claire because he gets there in time to prevent her from being raped. Just like (ew) John kinda sucked as a father because hunting and stuff, but hey! He’s actually a good figure for Dean because he got there in time to prevent him from being raped.

It’s pretty yucky. Literally NOBODY wanted a parallel between Cas and John. But he made one. And he made one to absolve Cas from the guilt he carried for what he did to Claire (Claire’s mother is a mother so who fucking cares about her. She’s basically a Blurry Wife(TM), she’s only a tool for Claire’s arc, Cas apparently only cares about the harm he did the child, not the wife, for some reason.) and to absolve Cas from his guilt it absolves John too. Don’t worry, being a parent is hard. You often screw up. But you can *looks at smudged writing on hand* prevent the kid from being raped by predatory adults and everything’s fine now.

It’s not really important if the child suffered hunger or whatever, the only important thing is that they don’t get raped, because that’s bad, everything else is just a little detail.

All Dabb got with that scene was to paint Sam as extremely unsympathetic because he’s no longer a child, he’s a full adult now and still thinks of that episode at the CBGB as a funny story. That’s not a good look. It almost makes you think that the writer himself saw it as a funny story. Lol teenage boy biting more than he can chew. But then why the Claire parallel? The Claire scene onviously is not supposed to be anything but horrific. I'll give Dabb the benefit of the doubt on this specific thing.

It’s weird, yes, because Dabb wrote Dark Side of the Moon where he establishes that John was a bad husband/father even before tragedy hit the family. But apparently that’s the “not going to win any Number One Dad awards” part, I suppose? I guess he intended to write John as this flawed, ~complex~ figure who was imperfect but still brave and whatever blah blah did his best blah blah. I’m all for flawed complicated characters but a horrible father is a horrible father. A rose by any other name... parental abuse is still parental abuse even if the poor guy was complicated and traumatized and did what he thought he had to do to prepare his sons for a violent world.

Also, the story frames Dean’s escapade as a teenager being stupid. “You know what he got for that? Me whining about how much he embarrassed me. Me telling him that I hated him. But then he stopped and turned around looked at me and said, Son, you don’t like me? That’s fine. It’s not my job to be liked.” “It’s my job to raise you right.” This seems straight from a novel about teenagers doing something stupid that they’re too young to realize that their parents are right to be against them doing. But this isn’t just... a parent walking into a bar to stop their child to drink alcohol. Dean literally describes feeling sick from something that was inside the alcohol.

Sure, it makes sense that he’d lash out to John because of the shame and shock. But the scene is... off. Are we supposed to see this as a typical teenage mistake? Are we supposed to read it as something as horrific as what happened to Claire, literally sold into rape? Or, worse, are we supposed to see what happened to Claire as a teenage mistake, ah silly teenager, blindly trusting shady people, no wonder you end up in a situation where you’d get raped if a father figure didn’t sweep in and save you. I hope that wasn’t the intent.

To get back to Dean’s Mark-of-Cain violence, the writers clearly didn’t intend it to come from the Darkness up to a certain point. It was supposed to an arc about your own inner darkness (consider the Charlie episode, a couple episodes later). Then they came up with the idea of The(TM) Darkness, the suppressed cosmic feminine. While it caused a bit of dissonance in the subtext, it doesn’t really change Dean’s narrative, because his inner darkness is the trauma, and his trauma is inherebtly tied to the “feminine” i.e. the parts of him that don’t fit seamlessly into the scheme of toxic masculinity values. That the violence that comes from the Mark of Cain comes from Dean himself and that’s it, or is connected to the Darkness, it doesn’t change what it means for Dean. Dean and Amara have parallel histories, the feminine principle locked away, the trauma the anger stems from.

In 10x09 we’re still in the Before The (TM) Darkness era, before the suppressed cosmic feminine. The Mark of Cain arc is still about... well, Cain. But the shift is the signal that someone looked at Dean’s arc and said... you know what? “Lucifer gave me this curse so now I’m demonic and murdery” is meh. “Toxic masculinity suppresses the feminine and it creates trauma which rage and violence comes from” is more interesting. I don’t know whose idea it was, but it was a good idea, and surely the idea came from seeing how Dean’s MoC narrative was unfolding.

Dean’s MoC narrative was unfolding in a certain way, in fact, because of a pretty simple reason. There’s a fundamental tension in Dean’s MoC arc. We want him to go murdery, but it’s also our main character, so we don’t want him to do really horrible things because he still needs to be relatable. The audience cannot hate him, so he must NOT do something entirely unforgivable. He still needs to be somewhat relatable, even when demonic or demonic-adjacent.

So he goes on a murder spree... but it’s rapists and child traffickers. He’s demon, but he kills a misogynistic dude that wanted his wife dead for cheating on him. He’s a demon, but beats up dudes that harass women. He does a slaughter, but they’re nazi. He’s off the deep end, but works a case of kidnapped and abused young women...

Speaking of which. 10x23, written by Jeremy Carver. Dean works a case where a girl was killed while dressed scantily and Dean makes some slut-shaming remarks, and we’re supposed to think “whoa Dean, that’s bad”. But later he confronts the girl’s father and what does he say?

I’m just doing my job, Mr. McKinley.

By suggesting my daughter was a slut?

I’ll admit that thought crossed my mind. Then I came here, and I smelled the deceit and the beatings and the shame that pervade this home.

You shut your face right now.

And you know what? I don’t blame Rose anymore. No wonder she put on that skank outfit and went out there looking for validation, right into the arms of the monster that killed her.

Back then the episode was super controversial and everyone hated the case because of the apparent slut-shaming but I loved it! Because it’s not about the girl. It’s about Dean. Dean doesn’t think that a girl gets killed because she dresses in a miniskirt so it’s her fault. Dean is projecting on himself and he’s not actually victim blaming the girl, he’s victim blaming himself. And when he absolves the girl by putting the blame on the father... well, subtextually he’s absolving himself by putting the blame on his father. On the deceit and the beatings and the shame that pervaded his own home. He’s textually not ready to absolve himself, of course, he summons Death to ask him to kill him later, but subtextually he’s on the right path.

Rose McKinley basically did the same mistake Dean did at the CBGB when he trusted some older people who offered him drinks and the same mistake Claire did when she trusted a man who sold her for money because he offered him a place and stability. She trusted the wrong people (in this case, vampires, which adds the whole subtext of vampires and sexuality) who took advantage of her. Except Rose had no one to save her. (Her friend, Crystal, gets rescued by Dean, even if he causes the other hunter Rudy to die in the process.)

Carver’s writing is pretty brutal. The girl made that mistake because was abused at home, so she was desperate for validation and that desperation drove her into the wrong hands. (Rose even has a brother who blames himself for bringing her sister to her future murderers, destructive sibling relationship check.) It doesn’t actually even matter if Dean guessed right about Rose’s family situation, because what matters is what it tells us about Dean. He basically relates to a dead abused girl. Actually all through the season Dean is paralleled to “skanks” “sluts” and sex workers. Obviously this happens kinda all through the show, the whole “the business is based on absent fathers” thing happened much earlier in the story, so it’s not new. But s10 draws a picture of female suffering - abuse, manipulation and death. Season 10 was difficult to go through. In hindsight, it was probably on purpose because it was supposed to be darkest hour of the feminine. Summed with some good old fashioned misogyny, but hey.

The Carver era was wonky but Carver wanted to free the feminine. (I believe that Mary’s comeback, while written by Dabb because of the showrunner shift, was planned before the showrunner shift.) We thought the Dabb era wanted the same, with Mary choosing life and Amara being independent and so on, but it evidently wasn’t the case. Not a single woman arrives at end of the story. It’s hardly ~Bucklemming or ~the network or ~covid because it starts before the very end.

I’m not saying that dead sluts are more feminist than living women, but if the women die or disappear anyway (and they did) I’d rather have an exploration of trauma than nothing. And I definitely prefer a dead slut narrative that calls out parental abuse than a narrative where women live but abuse gets the you-did-your-best treatment.

Whoops! I digressed! But feel free to ask for any clarification or send me any observation or thought.